by Himawari (ヒマワリ)
Subra-82 research expedition, Archaeological Division, Room 423Ж
Your data packet arrived today. Thank you for sending all of the footage of the anniversary party: dadiji-dadaji look well, and still in love after all these years. The packet uncompressed and decrypted beautifully at this end, as you predicted. Thank you, too, for talking me into switching to bogeo17. You’re right, it transmitted much faster over the solar system relay than my old algorithm did, even though ’tis the season for salt dust storms, and you know how bad those are for signal quality. Some day, maybe, we’ll have enough satellites that it won’t be such a problem, but we aren’t there yet.
My dear, even though you will be here in fifty-two days, and I know neither of us need any assistance with feeling sufficient longing, I must write to you of mine. I can’t stop thinking, lately, of your long legs, so brown and so pretty against my own gray-green skin, and how it feels to wake up and run my hands up them in the morning. I keep waking up recalling the way you sigh and press against me, and often throw one thigh over mine to tangle us together. It leaves me breathless when I wake thinking of it, here in my flat.
I miss morning sex with you, dear. I miss that feeling of receding sleepiness mixed with desire as I run my hand up the inside of your thigh and find you already damp as I am. I’ll be frank, my love: I hope to finger you in this very nest soon, to slide my fingers against your soft lips and pick up the slickness you make. I’ll add some of that marvelous kelp-based lubricant I told you about, that Zasssir makes on the side in our chem analytics lab, if you like. The stuff is great, and I use it on myself quite a lot, but it’s still not as much fun to pleasure myself as it is to finger you.
But I digress. May I pet that sweet, rough ridge inside your cunt, my dear, and run my other hand over your leg as I do? Will you sigh and moan for me, as I press into you? Will you squeeze me, as you gasp at my touch? I hope so. Will you touch my nursing frills as I finger you, my sweet? They swell and turn a deeper green as I write this, just from thinking about it. You are so gentle with them when you fondle the pneumatocysts and run your fingers through the lobes.
But back to your sweet vagina, my dear, and the way it hugs my fingers as I stroke inside of you. I know that some days, my stroking will be enough for you to clench your muscles around me and release your sweet fluids. I love to watch as you sigh and groan and come with my fingers inside you. Some days I also find my way through the beautiful folds of your vulva to your marvelous little clitoris, swollen and peering from its den, and stroke it. I like to encourage those muscles and nerves it is connected to. Is this the anatomist in me, my dear? I know it can get overly sensitive sometimes, but I love to stroke that little hidden gem when possible. I even like, sometimes, to put my mouth upon it and suck gently. Oh how you keened, the last time I did this. So different from the noises we Subra make, but akin, I think, to our coupling song.
I miss you, my dear. My own egg-folds grow slick and swell as I write this. It was such a relief to me when the grant was awarded and I knew you would be coming here to stay: I hadn’t admitted to myself just how deeply I missed you, until then. Strangely, the less time is left, the more longing I feel–or is it growing excitement? We will all be glad to have you here. Our collections need your skill at preservation and management. I will be the most glad of us all, of course, for so many more reasons.
Travel well, with all my love enveloping you.
Sol Lunar Archaeology Authority, Protected Specimen Auditing Division,
Personal mail identifier Щ602-9
I love you so much, my dear. Would you believe I unwisely opened your message at my office, yesterday? Of course, I was roundly teased for the flush that came over my face when I realized it was very much a sex letter. It was Evon who caught me. They collapsed in giggles and then kept looking at me and grinning like the marvelous idiot they are, for the next quarter hour at regular intervals. I am sure they went home that evening and told all three of their partners how funny it was that Losna got a dirty letter from her partner and opened it at work and blushed so hard they thought she would pass out. I don’t blame them, if they told. In fact, I think I’m honored.
I, too, feel more longing and more excitement for you as my departure grows nearer. I do feel excitement for the project too, definitely: it’s going to be so amazing to finally touch the soil of Subra-82 and begin to catalog the materials you have already excavated, and see all the history you’re unearthing. Please, keep them coming. Bury me in fragments and samples to process.
Bury me in sex as well, honestly. I miss stroking your nursing frills. They’re so beautiful, and tougher than they look. I love when they get engorged–I know I am awful at sexy language, but that’s what they do–and I love the way the patches on your cheeks get orange when you’re aroused. You’re so beautiful, Zhikesss. I know, I know: individual beauty isn’t really a Subra thing. But You. Are. Gorgeous.
I miss sex after showering, sometimes. You’re always at your perky best after you’ve been under salt water, and I love the feel of my clean damp skin against your fresh mucus coat. Do you remember when we’d just started having sex and I would slide off you or out of you so often? You were so patient with my land-girl clumsiness then. I miss touching you. I miss running my lips over your beautiful earfins to taste the salt left over from the shower, and putting my hands around your sides so you can squirm, but not squirm away. Will you squirm for me, my dear? I miss your folds, both the reproductive ones and your frills. I miss fingering your folds and how much like swimming it is to slide my fingers inside of you. I miss how your earfins flare and you sing when I do it. You are so soft inside, so perfect for hosting eggs, or my fingers.
Do you remember when you had to explain about your clasper fold? I was so clueless about Subra anatomy then, and kept sliding out of you when you squeezed me. I love to fold my hand and curl a finger or two to find that fold, so that when you squeeze I can hold on and let you ride my hand. I guess you could call me “an old hand” at it now. (And yes, I know you’re going to tickle me for that pun, when you get your hands on me again.) I love it when you ride me, and I can cup my hand inside of you. I miss humming along with you as you sing your mating call. I miss practicing the harmonics you taught me, and how even with my fuzzy human hearing, I get the shivers when we sing in time with your orgasm.
I can’t wait to wake up to your touch on my thigh, and to sing with you again, my dear, and to hold you tight as you come. You know we’ll be too excited and tired to fuck, the first day. But i’ll be there soon.
Be safe until I arrive,
The atmospheric shuttle run from orbit to Subra 82 Research Station tended to be turbulent: something about mid-level air currents getting nasty during thirty-five-hour days, and salt dust combining with water vapor as the temperatures rose. But Losna got lucky and the run down was smooth, which gave her plenty of time to look out the windows, and then fall asleep. The view was gorgeous: Subra 82’s pillar seamounts dotting the ocean at random, their tops
She had been supposed to be well rested from the long trip on an interstellar liner, but the artificial gravity was just weird, ever so slightly lighter than it should have been, and she hadn’t ever truly got used to it. The anticipation didn’t help: she kept dreaming of the cataloging room she had only seen in pictures, and dreaming of having trouble finding the right artifacts or any of the finding aids, night after night. Losna awoke when the shuttle attitude controls began firing to get into the final drop path, the vibrations rattling gear in the lockers. Subra atmo shuttles weren’t fancy; they were built to transport cargo and staff to the surface safely and efficiently, and while the seats were well padded enough for both human and Subra behinds during reentry, the ship was otherwise very utilitarian.
Shuttles landed on the seaward deck of the research station, for easier maneuvering around the tall pillar of seamount that the station was attached to. Staff weren’t allowed on the deck while a craft was landing, though underwater activities didn’t have to hold. Losna searched the windows of the station even though she knew it was probably pointless, looking for Zhikesss’s face, waiting in the arrival hall. Then the pads touched down, and the ramp was let down, and everyone started filing out with their hand baggage.
Losna wouldn’t remember the walk from the shuttle into the building, later. She would only remember Zhikesss’ face in the crowd, her wide-set eyes scanning for Losna and her small mouth slightly open. Losna would not remember weaving through the clumps of welcomers and newcomers, until she stood before the slim Subra woman. Zhikesss was wearing an elastomer shirt on her torso today, a sign she’d probably overdone it in the dry dig site full of salt dust, in the past few days, and her skin needed help rehydrating. But her earfins were fully forward and quivering slightly, and the patches on her cheeks were starting to color, and then they were in each other’s arms, holding tightly.
“Welcome to Subra 82,” Zhikesss said in Losna’s ear, after they had simply stood and hugged a while. Losna had missed that musical voice with the slight Subra whistle to it, so much. “They’ll bring your luggage with the packages. Shall we go home?”
Home. Of course. It was a new home, a home Losna had not seen in person yet, but home nonetheless. “Yes please,” Losna said.
“Are you tired? We can sleep early tonight, if you need to. There will be plenty of time for other activities in the morning,” Zhikesss said, and hunched the ridges of her flat nose up, in her version of a smile.
“Not yet,” Losna said, before she caught on. She looked up, Zhikesss’ cheek patches flush a little brighter. Oh. Oh.
Losna said, “It’s still early on ship time. But I would like a shower…”
Zhikesss’ cheek patches were now completely orange, with even a hint of purple in the middle. Losna wasn’t sure she’d seen that before. “I’d like that, too. The salt water is very invigorating.” Zhikesss entwined the tips of her fingers in Losna’s, and led her from the arrival deck to their new home.