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They didn’t cover human courtship at Nel’s academy. Not surprising. It was more a regional outpost than the prestigious Earth campus, with exactly three humans enrolled. None of whom Nel ever spoke to.
So, being assigned to the Alliance’s flagship - a ship practically maggoty with humans - had been a shock. Their family back home had been so proud. A colony of moisture farmers about to send a child to serve on a command vessel.
Head Engineer in five years, their Pater had crowed.
And now, barely a month into their first tour, Nel had made it to the Command Bridge. Just… not in the way they’d imagined.
The duty roster said “weapons console maintenance.” Instead, they were under the console, hunched over and pressed against Ensign Plover’s boot, mandibulars pulled taut in his fist, a very human penis - Ernie called it a cock - nudging at their mouth.
“God, I love your face tentacles,” Plover groaned. “It’s like a leash built right in.”
They weren’t tentacles. Not even close. Mandibulars were their own thing. And apparently, they felt shockingly good when wrenched tight. Nel wondered, not for the first time, if anyone back home had ever discovered that particular… feature.
Maybe not. Ernie Plover had been teaching Nel a lot lately, as their self-proclaimed “humanity ambassador.” Human literature, human music, and human food called hot pockets, which surely had to be an acquired taste.
Not that it was all one-sided. Nel was teaching Plover Herception habits, like showing up on time for a shift and doing your spore rot’s own work.
Now Plover was demonstrating a new custom called play.
Herception play was usually a test of skill. Plover insisted human play was similar, only the skill was obedience.
They’d agreed, curiosity winning out over dignity. Plover had even given them a pattern to tap if it got too much. But Nel was obedient. They would pass this test. Even if they kept wanting to spit out Ensign Plover and complain.
Nel gurgled around him and tried to speak, pulling back just as a hand fisted their mandibulars tighter. “This is ridiculous. Ensign Plover, your definition of play is flawed. Some of us have real work to do. Lieutenant Croft expects the plasma interlock array to be recalibrated by 0600.”
Plover tugged them back into place, filling their mouth again. “Come on, Nel. Think of it as another drill. Comply, Ensign. Just… play along.” He grinned down at Nel in the way they found intriguing. “That’s the whole point. You stay where I put you, no matter what’s happening up here. That’s the game.”
Nel flared their mandibulars in protest, though the tugging made them shiver. “So if the command crew comes in, I’m meant to stay under here…”
“Exactly.” Plover grinned, giving a playful tug. “It’s the middle of the night. The Captain’s probably yanking one out to the First Officer. We’re not going to see anyone except maintenance, and that’s supposed to be you! If someone shows up, you stay quiet and still, yeah? Like you’re not even here. Think of it as training. Humans call it cock-warming. You want to be good for me, don’t you?”
Ernie’s grip on their mandibulars shifted, rolling the sensitive ridges between his fingers. Nel hissed around him, their whole body jerking in protest. They needed more of… something.
“Mmph!” They tried to pull back again, only to be hauled snug against his lap.
“Easy.” Ernie’s boot slid up the inside of Nel’s thigh before easing away again, depriving them of the pressure they craved. “You don’t move unless I say. That’s the game, remember?” A teasing thrust of the toe of the boot, then gone again. “You want to win, right?”
Nel flared their mandibulars again, but that only earned them a pinch that sent heat spiraling low. They wanted to spit him out and complain properly. Wanted to say this whole “human play” was a load of spore rot. But their hips betrayed them, grinding forward against nothing.
Ernie caught it, of course. His grin went too wide. “Good little Ensign. You do want to be good for me.”
Starsdamn it. Ernie was right. Nel clamped down harder than they meant to, a low sound rumbling up their throat. Their whole body trembled with the effort of stillness.
The bridge hummed with the low thrum of systems on night cycle. They were alone, the chatter of day shift gone. The quiet pressed like atmosphere.
Herceptians were a solitary people, family units spread wide across the moisture farms. Only now, in the hush of night cycle, could they feel that tight wound up stress of the day begin to ease.
Still, their lips were stretched wide around something their mouth was never meant to contain. Humans were larger than Herceptians. Their cocks especially. Ernie loved pointing that out, even when Nel qualified that their functional biology wasn’t truly convergent.
Their mandibulars strained under his grip, the pull steady, dragging them closer. Saliva pooled faster than they could swallow, heat heavy on their tongue, jaw straining with the effort to stay open. Their tongue lay flat, trapped beneath the thick weight of him.
Was tongue movement allowed? Did that count as still? Humans should have clearer rules.
Every breath was shallow, stolen past the intrusion, and Nel forced themself to be still. They could play this game. They could win.
Then their body began to habituate. The…cock shifting from intruder to first contact. Their jaw easing, muscles loosening as a hand trailed from the weapons console to stroke the frills at the edge of their ears, making them shiver again. Mandibulars flared with each tug.
A soft ping echoed from the upper console, didn’t sound urgent. Officers stirred somewhere out in the passageway, the shuffle of boots and calm voices muffled through the metal above Nel’s head.
Then the hand slid to the back of their skull, pushing them down insistently. Nose brushing uniform fabric, airway blocked. Panic as they shoved weakly at his leg.
“Shhh,” Ernie murmured, his grip iron. “Perfect. Don’t move.”
This human was too big! They wouldn’t be able…
Nel’s throat burned, mouth stretched beyond reason, saliva running down their chin. They hated the choke, the helplessness. Hated, too, the way their hips rocked forward in search of friction all the same. They considered the tap – the thing that would end this all.
But they would stay. They’d be the good little Ensign.
They were trembling, caught between panic and need, when the chaos struck.
Klaxons blared, red light flashing across the consoles.
Nel jerked in shock. They pulled to move away, but Ernie’s hand on their mandibulars kept them locked in place.
“Red alert!” the captain’s voice roared over the comm. “All hands to stations!”
The doors hissed open. Officers poured in, shouting status updates, the shuffle of boots and clipped orders invading the quiet.
And then the first hit struck. The ship jolted hard to starboard, sending the console above their head rattling. Ernie bucked forward with it, burying himself deep. Nel gagged, throat spasming, a muffled wail lost under the clang of alarms.
Another impact shuddered through the deck, sparks shooting up, bodies slamming against rails, voices raised in the confusion. Nel’s airway was blocked, eyes watering, mandibulars flaring desperately. Hands unsure whether they wanted to push him away or hold him closer.
Above them, chaos errupted. Under the console, Nel fought to keep still, holding their post, human play proving more challenging than they first expected.
“Evasive pattern beta!” the First Officer barked.
The deck tilted as the helmsman threw the ship into a roll. Nel’s body lurched with it, yanked sideways. Plover’s hold steering them like reins. Their head twisting, the angle pushing further into their throat.
A strangled whine bubbled up. They weren’t made for this.
It wasn’t fair!
Every nerve screamed wrongwrongwrong!
But the constant jerking on their mandibulars lit up with impossible pleasure, dragging heat low through their body. Pressure building. They thrust hard against Ernie’s leg as it kicked out. He groaned.
The ship banked again, this time the other way, and Ernie followed the motion, steering their head like he was guiding the whole damn vessel through the turns. He looked down at them with a feral grin, sandy hair flopping into his eyes.
“God you’re a good little Ensign,” he muttered, low enough only Nel could hear. “I’ve got you. Stay with me.”
Starsdamn it. They were choking, shuddering, eyes wet, ears numb to the cacophony that mixed together until no sound had meaning. Their hips betraying them with desperate little thrusts against the air. But they must stay in place. Holding fast beneath the console as the ship reeled.
“God damn it, what do they think they’re doing out here? We’re in a cease fire! Open hailing frequencies!” the captain snapped.
The comms crackled, static hissing through the bridge. No reply.
Under the console, Ernie pressed them down again, seating himself to the hilt. His hips still. Nel’s throat squeezed tight around him.
Black dots flashed across their eyes. They couldn’t breathe.
Ernie’s boot pulsed against them. Reminding them not to ruin the game. To hold tight. Their hands twisted up in his uniform.
The static stretched on, long seconds with no answer, no relief.
The Comms officer finally offering “No response, Captain.”
Nel was still frozen in place, throat stretched, tears running hot down their face.
“Shields at seventy-five percent and falling!” the First Officer shouted across the bridge.
The next barrage struck hard, the deck shaking beneath them. Nel’s body jolted with it and Ernie pulled back to allow a stolen breath before burying himself all the way once more.
Their throat locked around him as they gagged. But nothing would expel him.
Their mandibulars flared wide, sparks of sensation racing down their spine even as their chest heaved in panic.
No more. They couldn’t take this. Herceptian anatomy wasn’t meant for human play. They’d walk away from this with a better appreciation for human endurance.
Still, their hands remained still, no taps. Their body clenched, held him, obeyed anyway.
Above, alarms wailed. Below, Nel was falling apart, shields collapsing, no defense left.
“Captain! Shields won’t hold!” the First Officer barked. “You have to make the call!”
Nel couldn’t see, but the bridge fell into a tense hush.
They imagined all eyes on the command chair. The Captain’s jaw working, hesitating on the life-or-death decision.
Under the console, Nel felt like they were caught between life and death. The unbearable pressure. Ernie held them down. Their lungs burned. Fighting every instinct to pull back. They imagined Plover’s command. His serious stare holding them down, like when he’d introduced them to human music. To take this seriously.
Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move.
“Fire torpedoes!” the Captain barked, voice ringing sharp over the alarms.
The weapons console above Nel lit up in a blaze of targeting data. Ernie’s hand slammed down on the panel, his other still locked on their mandibulars as he thrust his hips forward.
The ship lurched as photon torpedoes launched. The bridge flashing bright streaks of light from the viewscreen. Nel gagged at the same instant, throat seizing around him, and Ernie choked out a grunt, spilling deep as the bridge vibrated with impact.
Cheers rose when the enemy vessel split apart in a flare of fire.
Ernie’s breath hitched, hips jerking against Nel’s mouth, every sound he made swallowed by the thunder of torpedo detonation.
“Direct hit!” someone shouted over the roar of the bridge.
Under the console, Nel was destroyed too. Ernie’s release burning it’s way down their throat, grip never relaxing. His other hand stroked at their ears, their neck, their cheek. While his boot pressed firm against them.
“Inertial dampers at thirty percent!”
They rocked frantically, chasing the pressure they’d been denied, hips rutting shamelessly against polished leather until they came apart in a silent, desperate shudder.
The bridge exhaled in victory. Nel collapsed unsteadily, Ernie’s hands finally easing away.
The aftermath saw status reports from every deck rolling in, relieved laughter erupting around them. No casualties. Just repairs for a certain unlucky engineering ensign.
The Captain rose from his chair, boots ringing on the deck. He clapped Plover firmly on the shoulder. “Excellent composure under fire, Ensign. I see big things in your future.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ernie managed, voice only a little choked.
Nel huddled under the console, praying the Captain wouldn’t look down. Praying no one would see them ruined in the place they least belonged. They let out a hoarse, rueful laugh as the damage reports piled higher.
They’d won.
They’d been obedient.
Starsdamn it. Later they'd ask Ernie what other games humans played.
Nel knew they'd want to do that again. Learn to crave it- but maybe with fewer torpedoes.