Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

Keyword Destiny: Postscripts	By : Kereliah Category: +G through L > Invader Zim Views: 2217 -:- 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
- 2
- 3
- 4
3. Returning the Favor
Tak speaking
Ever since we'd spent that time on the junkyard planet, the child and I had fallen into a new evening routine. When the lights inside the dome had dimmed, she would pull me into her arms and kiss me, until my breaths were coming thick and slow—until my limbs felt heavy, as though filled with sand, and I was tingling inside and out. At some point, she would push up my skirt, lower my leggings (I hadn't yet let her undress me, though that would come in its own time), and…attend to me, in a manner of speaking.
Perhaps routine wasn't quite the right word; it wasn't so regular as all that. Often, she would pleasure me like she had before we'd touched down on the junkyard planet, using her hands or her mouth.
But more and more now, she was getting out that rather terrifying apparatus she kept in a zippered pocket of her backpack – the one she'd sewn and soldered together out of spare parts from a scrap heap, with the intention of replicating human male genitalia. She would tie a knot in her nightshirt, buckle the thing on over her briefs, position me (often ungently) the way she wanted me, and—well. I think it's fairly obvious what she would do then.
To say I wasn't thrilled upon introduction to it would be a gross understatement. I was horrified. I didn't want it anywhere near me, much less inside of me. But she managed to convince me, like she always did. She kissed me for longer than usual, so that I felt dreamy and peaceful, and she stroked me inside for awhile, so that I was slick and hungry for more.
She said you'll love it, I promise you will. You didn't want to let me use the buffer heads on you, remember, but you loved that and you're going to love this. She said it's totally safe and everything. I know it looks kind of ghetto, but believe me when I say I wouldn't do a half-assed job making something I'm gonna put inside you. I even had Mimi run a couple of scans on it, make sure it's not going to fall apart or give you a rash or anything.
Which was horrifying in a completely different way. Nevertheless – after informing her that if she ruptured anything, I would never let her touch me again – I conceded to try it.
And even though we had to begin slowly, and it hurt a bit at first (all the while with her murmuring little comforts, things like you can take it, babe, just breathe, just relax for me—that's it, good girl), it culminated in what I could only term a truly—explosive crisis. There was no question as to whether we'd do it again.
I mean, sweet shit, Sticky, Gaz said to me afterwards, grinning. I've never heard you make noises like those before.
Thus, it became part of our routine. She showed me several positions in which we could use it, all of which I learned would melt me in slightly different ways (and all of which were getting progressively easier as I got progressively taller, though I refused to acknowledge that at the time), and I developed an embarrassing appreciation for the primal pleasure of mammalian mating.
It was overwhelming where her gentler stimulation couldn't be. It took me completely out of myself, out of my head, which was something I needed more than ever during that difficult year. It let me feel consumed and dominated in a way that was safe, though I'd never admit to enjoying that.
One night, not more than a few weeks after we'd left the junkyard, she let me choose (I mention that she let me because she didn't always – on some nights, she would smile and ask how do you want it, Sticky?; on others, she didn't ask, just took), a position with her on her knees and my legs wrapped around her hips, a furled bedroll tucked beneath me for support.
She was pumping the thing into me, grinding into that spot that lit me up like my ship's dashboard in attack mode. I was convulsing, bucking against her, crying out whatever occurred to me to manage the sensations. Getting, as she sometimes purred over me, close.
When close became there, and I reached crisis gasping and shuddering, she laughed as if it were a personal victory. "And we have liftoff!" she exulted, flashing me a grin. "Think we should do a countdown next time?"
I just sort of groaned weakly. What I think, I was unable to say, drifting mute in a euphoric stupor, is that there must be some way of evening this playing field. Why is it that I'm always the one lying dazed underneath you? Aren't human mating rituals meant to be reciprocal?
Gaz withdrew from me, slowly. I heard the clink of buckles and the soft sliding of leather straps, the clunk of the whole apparatus hitting the ground when she tossed it aside. She shoved the extra bedroll out from under me and flopped down next to me, by which time my vision had cleared enough for me to focus on her face.
"You know," she sighed, folding her arms behind her head as she often did after extracting a crisis from me, "we've really got to try a new angle on these Irken-language lessons. I don't feel like I'm learning anything I ought to learn."
"And what is it you feel you ought to learn, child?"
Her smile widened. "Whatever it is you scream while I fuck you."
As usual, I soon rolled over and fell asleep, my eyelids made heavy by an exhaustion I rarely felt under other circumstances. I dozed off so quickly I didn't even notice whether the child had snuggled up to me (as she must have most nights, because I'd wake to feel her warmth against my back). But on that night, unlike all the other nights, I woke shortly after I fell asleep.
I'm not sure why, but whatever the reason, I stirred to the sound of labored breathing behind me. Still half-asleep and unthinking, I turned towards the source of the noise. As my eyes adjusted to the faint light of the dome's artificial moon, I saw the child lying facedown on her bedroll, panting softly into the strip of padding that stood in for a pillow.
Following the lines of her arm, I saw that it was partly squashed underneath her, and that was when it began to dawn on me. Still, it wasn't until I registered her hand disappearing into her briefs, her hips rising an inch or two above the bedroll, that I understood in full.
I knew a little about human self-stimulation (how could I not, given the company I kept?), and I suppose I'd figured she must have been doing it at some point. Knowing that she was perhaps even more sexual a being than most humans, I didn't expect her to service me and ignore her own needs; I wasn't sure what I expected her to do, but it wasn't that.
And yet—it wasn't this, either. Is this what she always does after I'm asleep? I asked myself as I watched her, simultaneously repulsed and fascinated. How is it it's never woken me before?
"What are you doing?" I asked her after a moment, as if I didn't already know.
"Baking cupcakes, Sticky. What does it look like I'm doing?" Nothing I did ever caught her off guard, even when I was sure it would. The movement of her hand slowed and she half-glanced up at me, one eye glowing in the synthetic moonlight. "You think you're the only one who should get to have a little fun?"
Her voice came out husky, heady; just hearing it flustered me beyond explanation. "No," I snapped. "It's just—why would you resort to something like that, when I'm lying right here?"
For once, it seemed I had surprised her. Her arm stilled altogether, and she huffed a hot breath into the bedroll. "You saying you want to return the favor?"
"Well, why shouldn't I? Why do I always have to be the passive participant? Why should you always get to be the one who forces me to mortify myself on a regular basis, when clearly your desires are as demanding as mine?"
"It's not about making you the passive participant. To be honest, I didn't think you'd be interested, so I decided not to ask." She raised a questioning eyebrow. "Don't you find this—I don't know, disgusting?"
"That's beside the point. It simply bothers me that I should have to tolerate you invading my body with that prosthetic phallus just to satisfy my physical compulsions, while you attend to yours privately, on your own terms. Our relationship is unbalanced, and I demand that you allow me to rectify it."
She slid onto her side, a smile breaking slowly over her face. As I watched her fingers emerge from her briefs, glistening all the way down to her knuckles, my throat went suddenly dry. "Then go ahead and rectify it, Sticky."
I blinked at her blankly. I'd meant what I said, but what was I to do? My knowledge of human sexuality was far from thorough – for all I knew, she had a carnivorous squid between her legs. "I…I'm not entirely sure how. How to go about doing that, I mean."
"Happy to show you, babe. Give me your hand."
I did, albeit a little hesitantly. She pulled off my glove (unlike her, I found changing clothes to sleep a waste of time) and guided my hand into her briefs, and I felt that she was warm, and soft. She slid my fingertips along the outside of the place where she opened, where her flesh formed petals that, like those of a flower, had to be spread to access the more delicate features of her anatomy.
Pressing one of my fingers gently inside of her – into the source of the slickness on her hand, wet and hot and faintly pulsating – she laid her thumb over mine and brought it to rest—outside, confusingly enough. She sighed into her bedroll as she moved my thumb in small circles over some mysterious organ that reminded me of a pearl, though not quite as hard.
Lacking anything analogous to it, I was confused. "What on Irk is that supposed to be?"
She sort of smirked, though the pleasure evident on her face weakened it considerably. Whatever it was, the thing was apparently very sensitive. "What, you want me to apologize for being more complicated than you are? Okay, I'm sorry: humans have sweet spots inside and out. You can't just stick something in and go to town."
"Well, this seems as if it's going to be a lot of work."
"Yeah, cry me a river. Just keep doing what you're doing, huh?"
She wasn't as…vocal as I was, but of course, she wouldn't be. I was somewhat surprised she let me see that she was enjoying it at all. With both of my fingers moving deep inside her (which meant significantly more now than it had a few months ago, as they had grown with the rest of me and were long enough to make her shiver when my knuckles touched her flesh), my thumb caressing that pearl-shaped erogenous zone, she was gasping and purring with obvious appreciation.
Sweat began to bead on her forehead, blood to collect in her cheeks. When it seemed she was confident in my abilities, her hand lay lightly on top of mine, supervising instead of steering. Her fingers were twitching, though, and I took it as an indication that I was doing something right.
"You want to know what I was thinking about before you woke up?" she whispered breathlessly, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "What I think about every time? I think about you.
"How your body gives when I push inside you, how I can feel you swallowing me up all the way. How I can see your muscles flexing and tensing, even under your clothes. How you arch your back and cry out for me, and I don't even need to know Irken to know what you're begging for – more, harder, faster, there. How you get so wet after you come for me, so that I just want to stay inside you all night, riding you nice and smooth."
She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, a moan rising in her throat. "So fucking hot. You don't know it, but you're so fucking hot. Nothing gets me off like getting you off."
Distracted, I'd let my hand lose a bit of its momentum, my rhythm cooling as my face warmed. "How is it that I'm the one knuckle-deep in you," I mumbled, "and still you insist on verbally molesting me?"
"What, you want to be the one to talk dirty to me?" she said, laughing. "Then for fuck's sake, shoot, Sticky. Make my night."
"Well, I—err—that's not exactly what I—"
"I figured."
Though she always seemed to know without asking, I lacked the instincts that might've told me when to do what to bring her to climax (I never once thought of it as a crisis when it came to her), so I was almost glad to feel her hand clamp down hard on mine. When she was ready, she let me know by quickening my pace, and redoubling the pressure of my thumb.
As she ground my hand into and against her, I saw her face tighten with anticipation. Her breaths came short and fast, her eyes squeezing shut beneath the sweat-dampened locks of hair that stuck to her face. Then, suddenly, her breath caught in her throat, and her mouth opened in a soundless grimace. She gripped my hand so hard I thought she might break it.
I felt her flutter inside and just like that, it was over – her body relaxing, her face slackening, her hand releasing mine. I pulled my fingers out to inspect them in the low light, rubbing the clear fluid that coated them between my first finger and my thumb. It smelled of something I couldn't identify, not exactly good but not bad, either. I wasn't sure if it was a gesture of affection among humans, but I hoped she wouldn't expect me to ingest her secretions as she insisted on ingesting mine.
"What, is that all?" I asked her when she opened her eyes.
"What do you mean, is that all?"
"You didn't seem very—impressed."
Again, she laughed, with some effort as her breathing returned to normal. "No offense, but I've kind of been doing this longer than you have. You'll have to forgive me if I don't squeal like a virgin every time I pop one off."
I frowned, feeling a twist of envy. "Well, how long did it take you to become so discreet about it? I wouldn't mind dispensing with the squealing myself."
"God, don't do that. I'd completely lose my motivation."
Without any warning at all, she rolled over on top of me and kissed me—deeply, decisively. I could feel her smile against my lips. "That actually wasn't bad, Sticky," she said when she lifted her head. "Maybe next time, we can try it without the training wheels."
"Yes, perhaps. I was also thinking that if I could re-engineer your—that thing, to make it less – what was the word you used? – 'ghetto', I could also modify the design so that it would provide you with some degree of pleasure, perhaps proportional to mine. Given, that would have to happen later, under different circumstances – I don't have the resources to construct something like that in my ship – but that is the ultimate goal of human copulation, isn't it? The simultaneous stimulation of both parties involved?"
"Fuck yeah," she enthused. "Modify away. You do it right, there'll be one hell of a party involved."
"Once I have the resources, of course," I reminded her.
"Of course."
A short while later, as we lay nestled side-by-side on our bedrolls, drifting back into sleep, I whispered something into her ear. It wasn't anything especially important. In fact, it was only one word. A single word in Irken, aineh, and its English translation: 'there.'
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Keyword Destiny: Postscripts