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Boimler likes to think that he’s the kind of person who changes for the better, who generally is heading in an upward direction. Like yeah, he can expect a dip here and there, because such is life. No one’s perfect. Even he knows that, and his whole life, he’s kind of wanted to be. But he’s learned, grown much in wisdom over time, to the point where he now recognizes that perfection is not the goal. A general upward trajectory of the self is his true aim.
And never has this been clearer to him than now, as he stands looking straight at this new life form which has so many arms (so many arms), wiggling seductively in front of him, having undressed him when they first met.
Because first of all, there’s the whole bit where he knows that this creature is waving seductively at him, and then there’s the part where he’s really not at all surprised by what is happening.
He sighs.
And then he remembers that he needs to remember his manners.
“Hi, I’m Lieutenant Boimler, and I’d like to–” A tentacle slips around his waist. “–welcome you to the Federation.”
He hopes that this is first contact. He’s just not super sure about that, but anyway, wisdom means making a decision and sticking with it.
He remembers when being naked on the job was a strange occurrence. He now often finds himself thinking wistfully of those moments, when that was the worst and/or weirdest thing he could consider happening to him.
He focuses on making first contact.
Okay, tentacled aliens. What does he know about them? They have a common ancestor, probably. He follows that evolution line in his head. There aren’t a lot of tentacled species in this particular part of space, but of course…
“The wormhole,” he murmurs. “The one a hundred or so years ago. It would have maybe presented an opportunity for things to move here.”
That wormhole (3222-Gamma) had plenty of other tentacled species at the other end, known for their sparkling body fluids and their overly friendly (by human standards, anyway) communication styles.
Boimler notices that the tentacle, first velvety when it touched him, is now kind of slimy, and his fellow living being sparkles in the light.
When they notice Boimler staring, they pause, for just a moment.
“Hey,” says Boimler, overcome with empathy, “I know that you’re nervous. We can’t always control when we’re turned on. It happens to all of us, my species too.” He has no idea if they can understand him, but the immediate response to his thoughts suggests that this creature is kind of telepathic, in that they don’t necessarily read language but maybe something that Boimler can think of as vibes? That’s totally something Mariner would say.
Usually, in situations like this, Boimler wishes that Mariner were here with him, but maybe this time, he’s glad that this is only going to happen to him.
“I don’t know you,” he says, because maybe the being doesn’t understand his language but does understand “vibes”, and this is one of the ways that he’s able to manifest those thoughts and make them louder for the being to hear. “But I know of species like you. You like to touch people to make first contact. Sexual intimacy is kind of like uh, like the way that you make first contact! And it’s normally super businesslike. But, uh–” Okay, maybe he’s a little bit nervous, because the being is covered in sparkling lube now, and Boimler is maybe a little alarmed at how much, but listen, that’s all part of the job, and wisdom means that he just takes it as it comes. “–you’re maybe kind of into me, and that’s fine. I don’t know you that well, so I can’t say if I’m into you like that, but I do want to let you know that you and your fellow – uh, people – are welcome in the Federation.”
Maybe the being doesn’t have a super high bar for affection, or maybe someone’s hurt them in the past, because everything gets much, much wetter after he says that.
“So we’re clear,” he says, “we say that to everyone. But if you’re flattered, then I’m happy to have contributed to that.”
For a moment, Boimler considers what he looks like, which is a naked scrawny human standing in front of – well the closest thing he can come up with is a squishy, crystalline-looking octopus which is twice his size and iridescent-looking.
Then the sparkling tentacle around him begins to stroke him. Not anywhere sensitive, just around his waist, like a slippery water slide that goes all the way around, like a belt.
Boimler doesn’t mind it that much. But wisdom is telling him that this is actually something that he would really enjoy, maybe in not a first contact setting, in bed, with someone who he–
He stops thinking when another of the tentacles reaches out over his dick and drips just a bit of sparkling lube on top.
It’s really warm.
It also feels much better than it should.
A gasp of pleasure escapes him, the kind that comes with a pitch, and he swears he watches the being shudder with happiness.
“Okay, yeah, so I was into it,” says Boimler. “I’m not super sure this is appropriate because you don’t know me that well, and I don’t know you. Which is totally what I said before. But I don’t want you to get hurt.”
With enthusiasm, the creature wraps the tentacle around Boimler’s dick, and Boimler for a moment loses time and space (so to speak…or honestly maybe not so to speak – he would believe that this creature can manipulate time and space, and he shouldn’t make too many assumptions).
(Yeah, this being has almost definitely been treated badly, because Boimler’s pretty sure that its cousin species were not this friendly.) “I mean, don’t give away anything that you don’t want to,” says Boimler. “No need to go above and beyond for me– ahhhhhh .”
The creature’s enthusiasm extends into how well they fuck, apparently. Two soft and slick tentacles lift Boimler off the ground, while one each comes to the middle of his forearms, stroking there. Another two part his legs, and in the middle of the best tentacle job Boimler’s received in his life (under what is definitely the most shady circumstances), another tentacle slides in front of his face, and that’s when Boimler sees that the tentacles are less like octopus tentacles and more like noodles, with a hole in the middle.
The dripping white tentacle (flashing all the colors of the rainbow under the lights) opens to reveal a soaked and dripping inside.
“Fuck,” whispers Boimler.
The tentacled creature pauses. Maybe they’re not sure if Boimler is having a positive reaction or not? Boimler kind of hates that he’s being given the option to clarify. After all, he was just trying to be cordial, friendly. This creature didn’t have to be a person with sexual people pleasing issues, but here they are.
And he hates having to admit that he enjoys it. Because he really shouldn’t. That would be the wise thing to do. But he’s just a lieutenant junior grade, not anything farther up the ranks, and he is expected to do something stupid and sexual every once in a which. Because that is also Starfleet.”
“Me,” says Boimler. “Fuck me.”
The drenched tentacle replaces the one stroking his dick, enveloping him. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but it’s not this. Warmth. Squishiness.
“Fuck me,” he groans, hoping that there aren’t serious consequences for this rather urgent feeling of his. And maybe they don't like to talk, because another tentacle, oddly tasteless and just warm and firm, enters his mouth and shudders.
Boimler's throat is probably going to bruise with the pace that this creature is going at, but hey, that's their prerogative and Boimler finds that he is not interested in complaining.
The tentacle dutifully fucks him, and Boimler tries not to move too much into the sensation (he’s totally moving his hips though – Mariner would totally give him crap for this if she was here, and also, he should not be thinking about her in a moment like this).
Moments before he comes, he looks down and finds his pale body covered in the iridescent lube, which smells vaguely like cotton candy. This person has to have a totally different inner pH than a human then. He hopes that his dick is okay.
He gags on the tentacle in his mouth and wonders if there is any part of him - hair included - that isn't soaked like a person three hours into a rave.
Then he comes hard enough to scream an extremely high-pitched scream and finds he doesn’t care.
**
After, he lies, boneless, wrapped in the (ironically, also boneless) tentacled creature’s appendages.
It’s the best sex he’s ever had and the worst possible kind of position to be found in, which is why he assumes that someone from his team (probably Mariner) is going to walk in on him at any moment.
And yet he still feels like it’s his obligation to be a gentleman here. “How do I reciprocate?” he asks. “I want you to feel just as, uh–”
It’s odd that such a large creature can move so fast. The creature shoots away, leaving Boimler suddenly on hard ground as they treat to the far wall.
“Ah,” says Boimler. “Commitment issues. Attachment issues. Yeah, I kind of get that. But the offer still stands.” He tries to look as dignified as he can, naked and well-fucked and sparkly on the ground, covered in the creature’s own sexual fluids. “As does, um, your offer to join the Federation.”
The creature stays in the corner but does seem to waver, so maybe Boimler’s gotten through to her for now?
“Boimler? Boimler? Oh thank god, we thought you’d died in a terrible–what the fuck?”
Boimler makes a half-hearted attempt to cover himself with his hands, but none of that really matters when Mainer, Rutherford, and Tendi have seen him naked so many times. “Don’t ask.”
“Oh, I’m going to ask,” replies Mariner, her ponytail seeming to swing with her very anticipation. “And you’re going to tell me in detail.
“They’re my friends,” says Boimler quickly, because the tentacled creature looks like they’re totally freaking out. “They’re just making sure I’m okay. But they can also be your friends!”
The creature slithers away.
“They’re going to be okay,” says Boimler confidently. “I think they’ll come back. They just uh, need a moment.”
“What happened between you two?” asks Tendi.
“Isn’t it obvious?” asks Rutherford. “First contact was frisky contact, you know what I mean?”
There’s a pause where no one says anything, and then Mariner’s face, growing brighter in expression by the moment, leans in, delighted. “Did ya lie back and think of England, Boimler?”
“No,” replies Boimler quickly. “I, uh–” Well, saying that he enjoyed it would probably sound worse, and that’s no way to treat someone you’ve just met. “It was fine. It’s just the way they communicate. We need to try and find them.”
“Maybe,” says Mariner, extending a hand to help Boimler up. His thighs are shaking. “But first, we’ve got to get you cleaned up, buddy. Look at you, having giant adventures without us.”
“Just don’t beam me up, okay?” says Boimler. “I think we can make this work.”
And so, his friends help him put his uniform back on over his sparkly, extremely well-hydrated skin, and they do seek out his bedmate, whose name is Releysa and was actually capable of spoken speech the whole time, just held back for Boimler’s sake.
And yeah, they can’t really date because it wouldn’t be ethical or anything, but they do end up pretty good friends, and a few years from now, they may hook up every once in a while as Releysa tries to get over her whole attachment issues thing.
But that’s just wisdom that comes with this job.