Work Text:
“Sparks Nevada, I am under onus to you for preventing a town-wide panic about the Jupiterian spy.”
Sigh. Preventing a panic had definitely not been Jib’s intention. But there was no going back. The only thing he could do was use all that unfortunate business to go forward.
“I totally appreciate that, buddy. But I’m hoping that we could even out the whole onal balance thing with a round of one of my very favorite games, LETTING ALL OUR GUARDS DOWN.”
“I would like to remind you that onus does not work that way. Additionally, I am unfamiliar with your Earth games.”
“Well that’s a pity, because this game is super neat. I’ll go first: I have a secret, and it’s that I totally think you are super duper awesome, even if I never tell you that, because apparently I password protect every single thing, even my feelings. Now you go.”
Croach regarded him silently, a brow ridge raised.
“Ok, guy, I don’t think I explained well enough how this game goes. It goes like this: I let down my guard with you, which was really hard for me or whatever, and now it’s your turn, and you have to let your guard down for me, right? Like with secrets and stuff? For, like, onus reasons.” Picking up context clues, that was probably Jib’s single greatest spy skill.
“Sparks Nevada. Are you attempting to use your unclear human language to refer to the incident that you designate ‘the thing we will never talk about’?”
“Yes, I am definitely referring to that. Probably.”
“If you wish to stimulate my egg sacs again, you only need to say so.”
Was that part of some sort of Martian secret-exchanging ritual? He probably should have read the dossier before he landed his ship. Reading reports was not his greatest spy skill. Luckily, he was an amazing enough spy that it generally didn’t cause problems.
“Yes. That is… definitely a thing I want to do. And that is totally what I was trying to say, with my unclear human language and stuff.”
“As I hope you understand, I do not wish to expose my feet in such a public space.” Oooh, foot-showing. That was super private, right? It probably was related to sharing secrets. Feet-crets? “May we adjourn to the back room?”
“Totally, buddy. Whatever you need to feel comfortable and guard-let-down-y. I am totally there for all of it.”
He followed Croach into the back room, where Croach immediately dropped his loincloth (but for some reason kept his moccasins on?) OH. Was this, like, a sex thing he’d stumbled into? He had... not anticipated that. But given that he was going to start pollenating like crazy within the next few days, he might as well try out the local mating rituals and stuff. Have some fun on the way to making his awesome babies.
He gave Croach the ol’ once-over. “Oh man. You look super neat like that.”
“I am not gross— “ Croach stopped abruptly and peered at him again suspiciously. He definitely needed to nip *that* in the bud.
He put out a hand and traced it down Croach’s chest to the super neat-looking gelatinous sacs between his legs.
“Buddy. Buddy, you’ve got to understand. When I call you gross or whatever, it’s just because of how I’m all stoic and stuff. What I’m really saying is, my feelings are too much for me, and I need to put up all my dumb Earth walls so no one will know. Laconic, etc.” He’d been Sparks Nevada for at least four hours, and he was good enough at context clues to know that this was probably true-ish.
Croach let out a breathy little moan, and Jib started to stroke a little harder. He had not expected Martian junk to feel this cool. It was all like, soft and squishy and just generally super nice feeling. If Sparks Nevada thought this was in any way gross, he was a super chump.
A few strokes later, Croach let out a protracted moan as his feet finally popped out of his moccasins. Ha, that was what he meant about showing his feet! It was not a metaphor at all! Good to know!
Croach caught him staring down and blushed indigo. Martians were great. “Would it be ok if I touched your feet?” Jib asked.
Croach blushed an even deeper indigo, almost halfway to a beautiful Jupiterian purple. “I am simulating the clearing of a human esophageal tract to indicate that I would first care to reciprocate.”
And… whoopsy? Jib had not thought that far ahead. He really should have read that dossier. At the very least, he should have gotten naked before he left his ship and figured out what kind of bits he even had right now. Next time he would definitely remember to do that.
For now he would have to improvise.