Silar’s hands were big. Really big. Vaguely human-shaped, with five fingers and all that jazz, but just so much bigger than any human’s hands had the right to be. And with sharp claws, a dark reddish-brown similar in colour to his hide. His hair hung in a long, loose tie down his back, also a rust-coated brown sort of shade. He had a spot on the back of his belt for his tail to hang, but it wasn’t looped there now. No, his tail was currently snaking along the ground, wrapping around a hose, and pulling that hose over to an empty wooden bucket. Once the hose was in position, his tail unfurled and went to a tap directly below the window I peered out of. Agile as a third hand, it turned the tap. Water flowed into the bucket, and when the container was full, Silar’s tail turned the tap off, looped around the handle, and dragged the bucket until it was directly beneath his mount’s head.
The horse-thing drank gratefully, taking big, sloppy gulps while Silar continued to wipe down its coat and clean its horns. He seemed to be gentle but firm in his ministrations, and it was obvious the animal trusted him completely. That had to be a good sign, right? If Silar was kind enough to his mount to earn that sort of bond, then maybe he’d be kind enough to me, too.
Silar produced something from his pocket and his mount immediately stopped drinking to nose at his hand. The animal munched, and afterwards it made a snuffly sound and bumped its nose against Silar’s hat, nearly knocking the thing off. Silar patted its neck in return, a gesture that was somehow both brusque and tender, as if he were mildly embarrassed by the animal’s show of affection but secretly pleased by it anyway.
This is a good man.
The thought came without warning, as loud and as clear as if someone had spoken it aloud.
I went over the words more intentionally for a second and a third time, letting them roll around in my head.
This is a good man.
In that held-breath moment, watching my husband-to-be in silence from my unseen place, I decided it was true. Mama always told me that what people did when they thought no one was watching told you who they really were. Silar may not have bothered with the formality of wearing a shirt to meet his future bride, but the big man took care of his animals. And that said a hell of a lot more than fancy, formal clothing ever could.
It was probably a damn good thing I thought so, because the very next moment Silar disposed of the few garments of clothing he was wearing. My hands shot up to cover my mouth, my eyes widening as, without warning, Silar kicked away his boots and shucked off his trousers, tossing them all in at heap beside him and placing his hat on top.
OK, Cherry. Time to go.
I’d already spied on his quiet moment with the horse. It was well past the point of decency to continue to peep on him now, when he was bare-fucking-naked beneath the bright alien sun.
I may have decided my groom was a good man. But I guessed I just wasn’t a decent woman. Because when Silar used his tail to turn on the hose once more and hold it over his head like a shower’s spray, I could not tear my eyes away.
Sparkling beads and rivulets of water rolled downward from his head to his body, and I gaped at the result. It was as if every drop of water was actually vivid paint, because by dousing himself in the stuff he changed colour before my very eyes. He stood gleaming and wet, no longer a male with reddish-brown hair and reddish-brown hide to match the reddish-brown dust, but a figure of startlingly saturated colour.
With his tail holding the hose in place overhead, both his hands went to work, scrubbing and swiping at his limbs as the dust was rinsed off of him like blood. His muscles tensed and lurched beneath smooth hide newly-revealed to be a rich yellow-gold colour. His hair’s transformation was even more shocking, the dull grime rinsing away to slowly reveal bright blue strands that were highlighted turquoise where the sun hit just right.
Watching this slow, melting reveal of new colour felt somehow even more intimate than his original undressing. I’d once seen a picture of an Old-Earth tropical beach, and Silar’s colouring reminded me of that. The deep gold of the sand and that heart-achingly pretty sort of blue that you could just tell had to be an absolute dream to swim in. Not that I even knew how to swim. Lakes on Terratribe I were very cold and very, very polluted. But there were certain shades of blue in certain bodies of water that seemed to invite you right the hell in, swimming abilities be damned.
Silar’s hair was that sort of blue.
It was long and straight, hanging nearly to his waist. He wrung the water out of it, then scraped it back into a somewhat-tidy tie at the nape of his neck. His tail remained in constant motion, rinsing off the rest of his body as he dealt with his hair, sending water rolling down the dips and harsh curves of a muscled frame that, now shiny with moisture, looked like it had been carved from solid gold.
Seriously. Solid gold. The male looked like some artisan had lovingly crafted him into existence. An artisan with a real hard-on for masculine musculature, because Silar had that in spades. And it wasn’t just rippling muscles he had to spare, because when he tossed down the hose and turned around, I came face-to-dick with the biggest phallus I’d ever seen.
Holy hills of Terra.
That was the kind of cock that would either make a girl fall to her knees and thank her lucky stars… Or say her fucking prayers. And as I’d only been with two human men before, both with what I assumed had to be perfectly acceptable, average-sized human dicks, I counted myself in the latter category, my mouth going ash-dry and my tummy tightening with a tingly sort of dread when I thought about actually getting something that big inside me.
Even in his presumably relaxed state, the organ wasn’t totally limp and floppy. It was slightly stiff, that same golden colour as the rest of him, arching out and down away from the taut V-shape of his groin and poised above a sizeable, sac-like mound that I supposed was the Zabrian version of balls but less… dangly.
I placed my hands on the window sill and leaned forward until my nose was smooshed up against the dusty glass. I’d given up all pretense about pretending I wasn’t spying now, but hey, a girl needed to know what she was in for! My husband was packing what could easily be considered a murder weapon in most galactic jurisdictions, and I figured it was just plain irresponsible not to try to get a better look now. This was for my own future health and general genital safety, damnit!
Only problem was that besides knowing that it was big, gold, and made of firm flesh, I couldn’t suss out any other details. Now that Silar had tossed down the hose and used his tail to twist the tap off, he’d turned away from me once more to grab at his trousers, lifting them from the ground and beating them ferociously with his tail. Dust rose like plumes of thick smoke as his tail snapped against the garment over and over, and once he was satisfied (or maybe once he’d just given up on ever getting his pants completely clean) he pulled them back on. His tail twisted itself around the knob on the back of his belt while he yanked on his boots. He swept up his hat in his dark claws, straightened, put it atop his head, turned, then froze.
Even with the shadow cast by the brim of his hat, I could easily see his eyes. They were such a bright white that they actually glowed. Which made it painfully, terribly obvious that they were now laser-focused on the window. Or, to be specific, the annoying Peeping Tom of a human with her nose pressed to the glass like a greedy kid at a shop’s display. Was there a female version of a Peeping Tom? Peeping Tina? Peeping Tory? Peeping Too-Bad-Your-Alien-Fiance-Is-About-To-Send-Your-Human-Ass-Straight-Back-Because-He-Just-Discovered-What-An-Idiot-You-Are?
