Smol lang syne
Well everyone, Happy New Year!
I hope this story will have you all giggling like idiots at your holiday party tonight - it’s one of our longer oneshots, and is also happily our second lewd story of the month! You degenerates.
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Anyway, again, thank you all so much for reading these stories and enjoying them. I hope your holiday party is just as fun, if not moreso, than the one on Zephyr Station 8. But…. I don’t know, can you top space fireworks?
The cork-board was a neutral party, all things considered.
It was ubiquitous and something inherently human; a pulped-and-glued sprinkling of bark, dyed and leveled into sheets and then cut into perfect little squares. Frame it, stick it up on a wall and leave it be.
Sure, humanity could move to interactive notification nexuses, or even back to touchscreens if we wanted to be 2020’s about it - but the cork-board was homey, it was humble and unassuming, and most of all, it was cheap. This was a lifesaver not only from a resource perspective, but also because of how flexible you could be with it. You could post anything at any time, and as long as it was “on the board” then you couldn’t be held at fault for people noticing or failing to notice the notice.
So the cork-board does not care if you pay attention to it - it doesn’t scream at you with missed notifications or indicators, it just is. And it was just as it was when at 2AM on December 27th Glenn Abramson made the rounds to every break room, tacking up both the New Years’ Eve/Day Party Notice and Regulation Sheet and the “That Elf Gave me Trauma” Victim Support group notices before disappearing back into his cabin. It wasn’t that Glenn didn’t want a New Year’s party, or that he was somehow avoiding his peers - firstly, that was impossible to do in an enclosed space, and secondly Mike was already on disciplinary sexual-harassment leave.
No. Glenn posted the announcements on the cork-board because (1) he wouldn’t have to stand at that damn podium again and (2) word would still get out anyway.
“[Good morning, Director!]”
“Raspberry, good morning.”
Rgrezneh-of-Hrzgaren clicked her teeth in thought, idly checking something in her implant - that, or else her eyes just unfocused like that naturally - before responding. “[Director [Glenn], I noticed that it is very early in your sleep cycle to be up and about. Are you well?]”
“Mmm?” Glenn said, rolling out the last of the posters before sticking it on the cork-board. “Yes. I’m just putting this out there to…give everyone as much notice as possible.”
“[Notice about what?]” Rgrezneh asked, leaning in a bit close to check the poster. “[A…party?]”
“Yep. Spread the word.”
“[But who is in charge? It just says ‘if you have questions direct them outside the nearest airlock’]”
“…know what? I’ll leave you in charge of figuring out who is in charge - last Human to say not it.”
Rgrezneh growled a bit to herself, rounding on the rapidly-departing station Director. “[What do you mean? That’s not enough information to-]”
“Not it!” Glenn called over his shoulder before disappearing down the corridor.
- - - - -
The cork-board was still a neutral party, even after the three larger xenos races swarmed over each other to understand it’s mysteries, taking pictures of it and sending it throughout the station.
It was still a neutral party when they asked the first Human they saw coming off of the graveyard shift, who immediately called out “Not it - and you fuckin’ SAW me say it!” before furiously texting his friends.
It was still a neutral party when random Humans would run up to the nearest Xenos station worker, force them to look at them saying “NOT IT - SPREAD THE WORD” and then running away to do…whatever it is they were doing.
However it was decidedly not a neutral party when James, still in full exosuit, somehow violently opened the automatic door, stomped his way over to the cork-board, ripped it off of it’s Command Brand hinges and angrily broke it over his knee.
It could be the anger that he was now forced by the ancient rite of ‘not it’ to arrange a New Years Eve party on less than a week’s notice - or it could be the anger that he was screaming over the comm array “NOT IT” for the past hour while he was out fixing the solar panels, but someone who was not at his station due to elf-related trauma had muted his channel before leaving.
The mute rage that James expressed through his punches, kicks, and stomping made everyone in the break room take pause and witness the breaking of a man. Balled fists collided with the open air, stompy-kicks sometimes connecting and striking true against the ground. After a few moments James raised his arms to the heavens, black-helmeted face (possibly) twisted in rage as he silently screamed, collapsing to his knees - and then, it was over.
There was polite applause, a couple people stopped recording the tantrum and the newest pot of coffee politely beeped, signaling that it was ready.
“[Congratulations, friend …[James]!” chirped Ma’yepak’yk, her smiling face hovering over the prone human as her IFF finished it’s identification cycle. “[I have documented your fit of joy at being nominated the party leader, and sent a copy of your celebration to your friends and family. No need to thank me, I’m very happy to help.]”
A pair of gloved hands reached up and clawed feebly at the air in front of a jet-black helmet, the sound of a muffled scream could be barely heard over the ambient hum of the overhead lights. There was an accusatory finger pointed at Ma’yepak’yk, and she tilted her head, feathers rippling in curiosity.
“[Me? Yes! Yes I did - and I’d be happy to continue to assist you in this endeavor, for the good of all!]” she beamed, nodding to herself.
- - - - -
“And…let’s see. Banners, check. Fold-outs with plastic tablecloths, done. We’ve got…”
It was 2 days later before James got to work, and really, it was only on the 30th when things began to come together. Most of the other species on the station were fine with arranging, and even setting up parties for their own holidays and special events - the work was thanked, the party-goers (usually) understanding, and the night ended on a positive note.
However, Human holiday parties - and especially, ones involving coworkers and alcohol, were almost always absolute shitshows. Fistfights, trysts in the copyroom, drunken speeches, stolen staplers - and in the end, when the hangovers cleared and the desks were rebuilt, someone would have to take the blame. And really, it’s not my fault that I drunk an entire liter of whiskey - it’s the organizer’s fault for having it there in the first pla-
James shook his head, banishing the demons of office parties past.
“…and how’s the liquor delivery? We set there?”
With a very hearty thud - and a few concerning clinks of glass-on-glass, Ma’yepak’yk rested a crate of assorted liquors behind the impromptu bar. “[I have concerns.]”
“Yeah, if you don’t get another two crates of that in here-”
“[N-no, friend James. I am concerned about the amount of alcohol that you are planning on consuming over the next two days. Is this much necessary?]”
“Necessary?” James said, placing the clipboard under his arm. “Not at all. Mandatory? Absolutely. It is a mandatory necessity to drink all the alcohol you can before, during and after New Year’s.”
Ma’yepak’yk looked at James, and then back to the crate. “[Why?]”
“Well, for one, we can get away with it.” He said, walking over to open up the top of the crate. “New Years is the one party where everyone’s expected to stay up past midnight - well into 2, 3AM - and drink. This means Glenn won’t be putting down a drink maximum, and everyone has tomorrow off-”
“[So it’s Thankful Giving, but for inebriation?]”
“Yep. And this is where all the budget went-” James whistled appreciatively, pulling out a tube of Glenfiddich 30, twisting it open to reveal the bottle within. “-because getting drunk on bottom-shelf shit is for highschoolers.”
“[But isn’t it illegal for youth to-]”
“Yeah well I won’t tell if you won’t.” James said, looking directly at Ma’yepak’yk with a grin. Ma’yepak’yk, for her part, just took a seat, examining the other bottles arranged in the crate.
“[Fascinating. What other traditions happen tomorrow night - other than inebriation?]”
“Ah well.” James said, taking out a pocket knife to cut the seal on the bottle. “There’s a few: The fireworks-”
“[That’s almost a constant with your species.]”
“-It’s pretty and bright, what more do you want? We watch the ball drop-”
“[In the gym?]”
“No, it’s… it’s a big ball on a metal pole that slides down the pole when it becomes the new year.”
The two stared at each other silently for a moment.
“L-look I didn’t make it up ok-”
“[Hey, hey, no need to be defensive! What else?]”
“Ah well.” James said, the cork making an excellent pop out of the bottle. He tilted it forward and inhaled deeply. “Good God that smells… excellent. Uh. There’s drinking - we covered that - and drinking games, like beer pong. If you’re lucky and find someone interested, well, there’s handholding and cuddling and some couples sneak off to kiss and… other stuff, yanno? Maybe ring in the new year with a little bump-and-grind?”
“[Again, a constant for your species.]”
“Any excuse, bro, any excuse. Fuck me I wish I had a scotch glass.”
“[Ok!]” Ma’yepak’yk stood up and trotted - to a human, a breakout sprint - over to another crate, bringing back an assortment of clinking glasses. She arranged them around the human before sitting down, taking an unreasonable amount of pleasure in watching him select a glass and pour himself a drink.
“Well Maps, thanks a bunch!” James said, taking a small sip of his drink of choice. “That’s…that’s damn good.”
“[So, fireworks, alcohol, cuddling and sex. Anything else that’s a tradition?]”
“Nope, you basically got it for New Years Eve celebration-”
“[Wonderful!]” Ma’yepak’yk chirped, staring at an indicator only she could see. “[I’ll share this with the rest of the crew so we know what to do tomorrow night - though, some of us aren’t into [Humans] like that-]”
James almost spat out his drink; but wasting whiskey is a sin, so instead he swallowed with some air, coughing furiously. “Gak- wait, no-”
“[Hmm?]” Ma’yepak’yk said, fanning her crest to the side. “[But you said-]”
“No, that’s among humans-”
“[Well that’s not very inclusive-]”
“Are-” James placed the glass down with a little too much force. “Are you saying that you want to find a human and, and-”
“[Mmm, are you offering?]” Ma’yepak’yk said, grinning smugly. “[Because if not, then I might as well share it with everyone…]”
“I uh, wh- what?”
“[Nevermind! I’ll get those other crates, then, friend [James].]” Ma’yepak’yk said, smiling as she stood up and trotted out the ballroom, ignoring James’ protests.
The podium was large enough, because it wasn’t there.
The lights were perfect, because they were dimmed, letting the natural reflection of the sun off of earth’s terrestrial body light up the room.
The water was excellent - about 5% H20, 95% vodka -
Glenn Abramson was having a perfect night.
“-And lashtly, scho- So. I am not shlurring my speesh, thankyouverymush. And so I’d like to thank Jamesh Ohshahn-” Glenn and the rest of the crew broke out into laughter, as irish last names weren’t meant to be pronounced properly drunk or sober. Wordlessly, Glenn raised his glass in the general direction of somebody, and a cheer went up in thanks for James - whoever that was - for putting together the liquor distribution room formerly known as Viewing Rotunda 1A. The crew was having great fun; the humans were all drunk, as was tradition, and even a few of the xenos had brought some mild intoxicants of their own. Sure, a few people were getting handsy, but, that’s to be expected…
Now why was he on this stage again? Fireworks? But we’re in space…
- - - -
James felt the hands on his chest again, this time from behind. “[Pleeease?]” he heard from somewhere above him as the thick, clawed fingers gingerly pressed him back against the massive body of Ma’yepak’yk. Whether she was drunk on something or had just bided her time until most of upper management was drunk enough to not care, James would never know.
Her standard-issue jumpsuit already had its zipper tugged down past the appropriate holiday-party-mandated level, and James found his head nested amongst a soft tuft of off-white fluff that poked through the divide. The lack of sleeves meant that he was quickly wrapped up in a veritable cocoon of surprisingly warm – that is to say, insulating – feathers, and all but his face was quickly isolated from the rest of the party around them.
It was then that he felt her hand slide down along the front of his own jumpsuit – the pull tab on her zipper following it.
“N-no!” he stammered suddenly, and it was as if the party around him went silent, dozens of eyes suddenly on him for a moment as conversations died down. He stood there, awkwardly grinning, teeth gritting for a moment.
“No . . . I . . . don’t want any more punch,” he appended awkwardly, and after a few shrugs and head-shakes, the attention was off him again, and the zipper continued it’s journey down his abdomen.
“We can’t do this here,” he hissed in a hushed whisper to her as he looked up. As if in response, he felt a firm, clawed grip reach down between his legs, lifting him up by the seat of his pants as he winced. “[We’ll go elsewhere then.]” she replied simply as he was too busy sucking in wind to reply.
Moving from shadow to shadow, Ma’yepak’yk apparently found an almost-out-of-the-way alcove set off from the main Atrium. Unceremoniously she released him, giving him space to recover.
There was no door, but there was enough of a faux-wall division that he could no longer see the rest of the gathering, only hear them. He leaned back against her as she sat, holding him in her lap, breathing heavily.
“[Did that hurt?]” she asked rather innocently, nuzzling at the side of his head as her arms wrapped around him once more.
“Yessss,” he hissed, spreading his legs and nursing his now-tender testes as his body rested atop her curiously cushion-like reptilian one. Her feathers were like a downy insulation, and the jumpsuit that covered her body and legs like some sort of strange, standard-issue upholstery.
The suit - both hers and his - had been designed with standard bodily function in mind, and thus the zipper went down far enough to reveal the compression briefs that had been issued for underwear. The black of the synthetic fabric made the massive bulge there less apparent, but even without looking she seemed to know it was there. Her claws gingerly brushed against it, sending a shudder through his body – a combination of fear response and arousal that both confused and excited him.
“I-I still haven’t decided, yanno, I just, I uh-”
“[If you want me to stop, just say so.]”
His breath hitched in his throat again, this time for an entirely different reason, as her massive, leathery hands slid up the outside of his thighs before closing around his waist. She picked him up, this time spinning him around so that when she sat him down again he got face-full of warm, downy fluff and a pair of massive clawed hands firmly cradling his rear.
The exposed, black scales of her muzzle brushed against his head again, this time his cheek, and he was reminded of how cool her actual skin was compared to his – not at all like the one Jornissian he’d drunkenly hugged at last year’s party, but still notably different from his own relatively hot body.
Now that he was facing her, he brought his arms up along her sides, running his hands up her sides as he attempted to seat himself better in her lap. The breast-bone that made her chest look as fluffy as it did had simulated the appearance of a rather large, heavy chest at only the most basic level, but now that he could see it, he couldn’t help but touch it. Leaning back into the massive, blanket-like wings, his fingers began to dig into the feathers of her chest.
It was not at all soft with very little give, but running his hands over the promontory still sent that spark of excitement down to the bulge in his pants, causing it to grow considerably. He looked up at her with a wry grin.
“And here I was thinking this was all just fluff.” Her crest rose a bit, and he could tell from her sideways glance that if she could blush, she would be doing that just now.
“[So you were curious as well-]”
“Never said I wasn’t, Maps.”
“[Hmm… cheeky. It is mostly fluff,]” she replied, “[just because I’m from a cold world doesn’t mean I gather fatty tissue on my chest,]” she huffed. James again recalled the last party, and his embrace of the cold-climate Jornissian, and couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear.
“You’re jealous,” he realized, reaching up and giving the side of her neck a scratch. She ruffled her feathers, puffing herself up a bit before replying,
“[I am not!]”
It was all he could do to stifle a chuckle as he pressed his head into the down of her chest again.
“You’re adorable when you’re jealous,” he replied, running his hands down her sides and feeling up the rest of her alien, proto-avian anatomy.
“[Am not,]” she interjected, turning her head to the side, before James could retort, “ . . . and you’re even more adorable when you deny it.”
Her crest was at full height, and her feathers were ruffled to the point where her head and neck looked like a giant, fluffy stormcloud of feathers, with just a hint of amber from where her eyes were set.
This time around, he slid his hands under her jumpsuit, fingers running through the feathers each side of her chest as they brushed up against the scaly skin just beneath where her wing-like arms met her body. The tremulous shudder that caused even him to vibrate slightly in her lap, and the adorable, birdlike ‘myeh’ that she tried to stifle told him all he needed to know.
He began to dig his fingers into the soft, fluffy spaces just below her avian arm-joints. He was not tickling her, the rubbing was more akin to a massage as his fingers pressed against her scales. The subtle swaying of her tail between both their legs accompanied by the halting, almost chirping intermittent whine reverberating in her throat was enough to convince him not to stop.
“Don’t be too loud now, you wouldn’t want anyone getting curious,” he teased, digging his fingers in more firmly. Her winglike arms wrapped around him bodily once again as she shoved her muzzle up against his shoulder. The cooing chirps kept coming, but the vibrations were transferred directly from her muzzle to his chest, causing his whole body to vibrate slightly with each.
“[Put it in now,]” she whined rather pitifully into his shoulder, like a petulant child wanting her dessert before dinner.
“I’m struggling to find a moment when you’re not adorable at this point,” James replied with a grin, removing one of his hands from her underarm to run his fingers along the side of her muzzle. A set of sharp claws began pawing eagerly at his shorts as her other arm continued to wrap around his back, holding him close.
“Quite the invasion,” he chuckled as her claws finally managed to find purchase under his waistband. She gave him a flat look and a single desperate tug - rewarded a surprisingly loud riiiiip. James could feel the cool air begin to nip at the flesh of his already turgid member before the tip came to rest amongst the soft fluffy feathers of her lower abdomen.
“[Put in now, please.]” she stated, though it was clear this was more than just a polite request. Her claws were tugging down further at her zipper, pulling it down all the way between her legs. The downy-feathered thighs spread apart, spreading his own legs in turn as she leaned back in her improvised seat. As they tilted, James felt his first contact with her genital slit – a scaly set of lips nestled amongst a her off-white underbelly feathers. Reaching down with one hand, he used his fingers to spread the opening wide, though it offered more resistance than he initially expected. He only managed it after first prodding his fingers inside slightly, giving him the first hint of her strangely tepid nethers. Upon further probing, he found to his surprise . . . one hole.
“Just one?” he asked aloud in surprise, more to himself than to his plumed partner.
“[Two, two! Separate inside,]” she replied, before reaching down between both their legs to spread herself wider for him to make a better examination of things. It was not until his fingers dug deeper inside that he realized the one hole did indeed branch to two, hardly even an inch inside.
“I’m guessing . . . the front one is the right one?”
“[Not important. Can’t breed with [Humans] - both are fun]” she replied, nuzzling at his cheek, crest flicking up and down slightly as the cooing began anew. James felt a pair of leathery fingers brush along the underside of his shaft, to additional soft cooing.
“[Very warm and reasonably sized. Perhaps [Humans] can be studs after all..]” she stated before her hands grasped his rear again, pressing him forward in an attempt to get him in. He did what he could to resist, at least long enough to get himself lined up, but even with the added effort it still took them a few tries to get it right. When they eventually did, though, James could not help but let out a groan of relief.
The sensation of her soft, velvety walls practically sucking him inside was incredible. He wasn’t sure which tract he’d entered, but whichever it was felt just familiar enough to be consummately enjoyable, though exotic enough to set his heart racing. As he began panting and moaning, making short, quick thrust in and out of her – restricted only by the hands resting on his lower back – she gave his cheek another nuzzle.
“[Quite the invasion,]” she replied rather smugly. He groaned softly, a bit too taken with her at the moment to form a clever reply. Instead, his retort came in a quickened pace and lengthened stroke. The relative cool of her insides only reminded him how hot his body was, how intense his heart rate had become. He quickly lost himself in the sensation, in the rush of bringing this massive feathered beast to heel beneath him as a soft, wet slapping began to fill the small alcove, her feathers the only thing present to muffle the sound to the rest of the party.
If either of them had been listening, they’d have realized the conversation just outside the alcove had mellowed out a bit and become quieter as James’s intensity increased.
James was too intently focused to notice and Ma’yepak’yk was too taken with his efforts to care. Her feathers were ruffled up again as her cooing became a veritable, if soft, birdsong in his ear set to the rhythm of the soft slapping at her scaled sex. Her wingfeathers covered his back, further insulating him – and the noise – as she pulled him in closer. The sensation of her chambré canal around his tool was exquisite, and was beginning to wear on him.
As he felt his climax to mount, he doubled his efforts. If it wasn’t already apparent something was happening in the alcove, only the most naive eavesdroppers would be confused by this point. He let out another low groan, grinding his hips up against hers as he thought – hoped even, that they could hear. Hear him pounding this massive, avian invader into submission. At the . . . New Year’s . . . he buried his face in her chest as he felt himself erupt inside her, and she let out a soft, songlike call as his thick heat flooded her canal.
The two of them sat there for some time, chests heaving, locked in their embrace, as they slowly began to hear the sounds of the party outside resume.
- - - -
James was being ‘escorted’ home after…well. The party. He didn’t mind this at all; if anything, it gave him some more time with Ma’yepak’yk, which was now a very good thing - stopping along the way to cuddle, to talk, or to have another round.
Come on. It’s not like the cleaning drones would mind - and nobody was even in the cafeteria.
As the two new lovebirds rounded the hallway, they almost bumped into a Dorarizin and her young charge.
Ma’yepak’yk stared at the Dorarizin, who returned the glare, breathing in heavily. Then, slowly, deliberately - almost as if it was planned, even - the two of them raised and then slammed their forepaw/claws together in a glorious interspecies high-five.
A dawning look of realization spread across James’ face, while Mike just stood there confused.
“You cunt, you did tell the crew-” James began yelling, before being plunged into a feathered chest.
Ma’yepak’yk’s sing-song laughter echoed throughout the darkened hallway.
- - - - - -
Spoiler should be here but patreon doesn't believe in surprises:
“Goddamnit Glenn, why didn’t you stop them?”
“Yeah, ok. You stand between a drunk one o’ them and getting laid.”
“Look, prosthetics are in this year, yanno?”
Glenn sighed and sat up in bed, idly pushing Asuka. She pushed back, giggling, as he got up. “Well. At least it set the tone for the night, hmm?”
Glenn stretched, his back popping. “Uuugh, none of you fucks even paid attention to the light-sail fireworks I had commissioned-”
“We did have other things to entertain ourselves with - also, careful where you step-”
“Mmm.” Glenn murmured, stepping around the bodies of a few nude Jornissians. “Still. You want some hair of the dog?”
Asuka looked pointedly over at what was left of the couch, a few Dorarizin sprawling over its remnants with a couple humans somewhere in the pile.
...Maybe somewhere in there.
“I mean another drink.”
“Ugh, fuck no.”
“Suit yourself.” Glenn shrugged, stepping around yet more passed-out-in-mid-coitus couples. He rolled one of the karnakians over onto his lover - the fluff would absorb most of the weight, right? - and made his way into the kitchen.
“So.” Asuka said, idly checking her smartphone. “Third best? Fourth?”
“Solid third best New Years. Let’s make sure James sets up next years’ one as well.” Glenn called out from the kitchen, the sound of a fridge door opening and closing.
“Mmkay! That should be easy - just do not-it and I’ll remote-mute his station again.”
“I still don’t like that-”
“Take it easy, Gloomy glen. The software scans for any emergencies and patches it through immediately - just screaming ‘not it’ doesn’t trigger.”
“Hah. Nerd.” Glenn said, leaning against the door frame, naked as the day he was born.
“Mmhmm. Well this nerd is also your mistress, and she demands you come back to bed.”
“Yes Ma’am.” He smirked, placing his now-forgotten drink on a puffed mound of feathers nearby.