Categories > TV > Farscape
The betarai's smooth green shell fit comfortably into the curve of her palm. She paused a moment, relearning weight and texture. It had been a long time and this living body of hers felt unreal. Birth-clumsy fingers sought out the shallow indentation in the betarai shell, fumbled awkwardly and pressed too hard. The shell splintered and sticky yellow juices spilled over her hands.
Odd, the things that she had missed.
The betarai's soft yellow center was a shock against stone-dulled fingertips. Wet and slippery when she curled her fingers and tugged. Sucked on her fingers and betarai slid from slick perch on her skin to her tongue. Juice gathered at the corner of her lips, threatened her chin--food meant for private consumption, not public display, she thought as her tongue touched her lips and sucked back sticky wetness.
Painted cheeks caved in and betarai went loose and formless in the heat of her mouth. Tipped her head, shielded her eyes against the stranger-sun and swallowed. She had learned so much and had spent cycles dreaming of sticky fingers and chin and thick sweetness at the back of her throat.
It tasted, she thought, like a kiss.
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