Author's Note: This is smut and assumes you're over 18 in reading it. Tags: Fading Suns, human male x plant alien female, xenophilia, masturbation, flower licking, fellatio, throat penetration, oh god terrible plant puns Call it cabin fever; not like there’s much else to do during a Jump, and we’re not even halfway through the Sutek–Khayyam transit. Burning curiosity perhaps; because I have absolutely no idea if I am reading her right. Maybe even heresy; but honestly, not a lot of the crew aboard the Al-Takwiin Jadeed care about that kind of stern language for what basically is mingling with non-human crew members. Or maybe I was just tired of the talk behind my back from some of the other crewmen aboard the colonization ship; it’s not that they make an effort in hiding their remarks much either. Call it however you wish, I just needed an answer, and the only one who could answer me is the Shoot in front of me. “Are we having sex?” The rounded, almost mantis-like green head of the Shoot raises up from her work over a culture of modified bamboo shoots, her blue eyes closing to near pinpricks as the twelve blades of each of her iris diaphragms move. Shahed turns her head towards me, the irises opening up again to regard me with unbridled curiosity shining from her bright blue oculars. “–Are– we having sex?” she repeats after me with an emphasis on the first word, her twangy voice speaking clear from behind her mandibles and labrum. The green plant raises a long, slender leaf up from what goes for her shoulders near the base of her rounded trunk towards her mouthparts way up, imitating my usual thinking posture as she scratches at her rostrum (or her chin I guess). I draw away from her back, putting the mist bottle down on the bench. Beads of cool, clear water run down the segments of her central stalk from her head, towards the mantle of tiny flowering red blossoms sprouting from tiny stalks from what goes for a neck, and further down the criss-crossing leaves covering the length of her stem sections until the broad swell of the abdominal trunk. From the entire circumference, six evenly spaced out monocot-like leaves stretch out, glistening with a waxy sheen under the ultraviolet light of the deck. Each leaf terminates in what almost looks like a serrated trio of leaves, short, dextrous, folding fingers each. A layman might see her like an plant emulating an insect, a mantis rising from a fruiting body. She’s a peculiar plant, sure – doubly so considering she’s a sentient being, stuck in what basically is a rich pot much like the other plants on the hydroponics deck. Her pale roots have sunk between beads of her medium, while the largest four roots lazily stay atop the water-heavy bath of her pod. At other times, maybe the Shoot habit of copying behaviour is endearing and even funny, but at the moment, I’m less than enthused in seeing myself in the mirror through a plant’s eyes. Or hearing her parrot me back, for that matter. “I’m the one asking,” I assert with a slight tinge of annoyance. “Are we?” She probably realizes I’m serious, her long stalk righting itself and her body turning to face me. Her ambulatory roots and vines sweep over the grains of perlite making up the inert medium of her work pod, keeping herself upright as she ponders my words. “I guess we are, Jamal.” She sweeps two of her manipulator leaves down across the pruning sheers and the mist bottle. “You –are– my most intimate caretaker. You do trim me. Carry my pod. Moisten my seams. Get me food.” She keeps track of every point on each of the long, serrated leaf-like digits of her long arm leaves, already going through two hands’ worth of fingers to go over the points she makes. “Oh, and you pretty much are always drying off my mantle blossoms so they don’t go bad even after a day on hydroponics shift. That is, I can assure you, not a thankless job.” “That’s... not exactly what sex entails,” I respond. “That’s... not exactly what sex entails?” Shahed sounds genuinely surprised there. “Considering that’s just plant culturing, not actual reproduction.” Shahed regards me in silence for a while, returning a single manipulator leaf to her face in thought. “So that’s not part of human courtship behaviour to–“ and here her voice breaks into chirps, Shoot of course only our term for their species, “–courtship approximation?” Her long leaves slightly fall and curve downwards, her mandibles parting wide. “Oh. Oh. I thought you liked me.” “I do like you, Shahed!” I retort. “That’s... not what I meant, I mean.” I bring my right hand to my chin, perfectly mirroring the Shoot’s expression. “I mean, you do hear what some of the Engineers and the other House members are saying at the mess hall, yes?” “Oh, naturally! I do hear quite well in your vocal range!” Shahed says with a chipper tone. She recovers quite quickly. “And you’re not offended by them implying I’m–“ “Fucking you?” Shahed says coarsely. Well, her tone doesn’t change. The word is just so harsh. But at least she makes a clean breast of it. Not like it’s not been said by our chief of operations before. “Not quite what I meant to say, but yes,” I admit. “That’s pretty much what they’re saying, yes. But this whole caretaking thing is more out of mutual respect, you know?” “And enjoying one another’s company and talking about botany in general, yes,” the Shoot agrees with me, bobbing her head up and down. “But you did not mean to court me, however?” I bite my lip behind my hand, trying to come up with a good answer. Because honestly, I didn’t. But part of me does consider it pleasant she partially did. “No. But now I am kind of curious.” “Curious about what, Jamal?” she asks, slightly raising herself back to full height. On her pod, the Shoot easily is from the trunk of her stomach to the cant of her head about one hundred and forty, fifty centimetres tall. And that is on top of her roots and vines comfortably sticking in the half-meter deep bowl filled with water and perlite that allow her to maintain an upright posture in the first place. Her mane of rosy red flowers seems to expand around the two-thirds point of her trunk – they honestly look like lightly smiling puckered lips on her. And I swear I can see the bright blossoming red flower with its rounded chalice of five petals peeking at heart’s height from a dimple in her trunk is glistening from the tip of her stigma in the light of the lamps overhead. Her hands raise up towards her chest and the central flower raising from her stalk body, almost making her look to grasp for her it. In a way, I guess she is. “Curious how... sex would work, I guess,” I say, rubbing at the back of my head. “I mean, I’m a mammal. You’re a plant. With regards to reproduction, it doesn’t take a botanist to know that’s two worlds apart.” “It doesn’t take a botanist to know that’s two worlds apart,” Shahed agrees with me with a nod of her head. “Literally.” “Hah, literally,” I repeat. And it’s true. Beta Libra’s quite a ways away from Urth’s systems, but the Shoot insistence on aiding in finding answers to the fading suns phenomenon has basically made them an Imperial protectorate. And few biologists can match a Shoot’s skill with botany for any kind of prolonged travel. You might say they wrote the book on modern hydroponics and aeroponics – but that’s not something few are willing to lest they’d get the Church against them. We stare a bit at one another in silence before Shahed reaches out towards my hands, taking them in the pointed leaves of four of her hands, gently pulling at my arms. “So then. You want to do this then?” she asks without a spot of hesitation in her voice. “I want to do this,” I answer, unsure, but very much willing to sate my curiosity. Though that brings me to ponder how to even– Shahed pulls me closer until I give in, walking towards the edge of her bowl. Another tug at my coat before I make the connection she wants me to join her. I pull my hands away, removing my gloves, unbuttoning my coat and removing my woollen shirt underneath. I set them aside on my seating, and then carefully step up with my left knee onto the moist bath of volcanic glass marbles and water. Almost immediately, perlite and water displaces around my leg. “I should probably strip further then.” “Wouldn’t want to have you waterlogged, no,” Shahed says with a sage nod, regarding me as I step back and remove the rest of my garments. Boots. Foot wraps. Work slacks. Trunks. Sure, that leaves me in my tight, black briefs, but let’s not get naked quite– “Those too,” Shahed all but sings out when two of her lower manipulator leaves reach out for my hips, pulling the elastic waistband down across my light brown skin. I oblige her, eventually, stepping out of the briefs until I’m standing naked before the slender green plant, the dark hairs of my arms and legs standing on end in the sudden cool surroundings of the hydroponics lab. Her digits wander over the thick curls of my pubic hair, and she’s openly regarding my naked body. Then her six hands travel up along my sides towards my hands again, keeping two of her pointy-leafed hands on my ribs. She’s stroking my body, my arms. Her leaves feel just slightly cooler than the room, and the serrated points of her leaves’ digits leave faint white lines across my skin where she touches me. It’s honestly unlike anything I have felt from a woman before. It’s actually quite exciting. I return her touch to my own arms to hers, gently letting my fingertips wander the smooth, almost waxy epidermis of her leaves. Firm. Pliant. Less yielding than human skin, certainly, but not so hard my fingers pressing down already would bruise her. Her leaves are almost without any change in coloration, except the slightly darker hue of green along the innermost vein containing the thickest bundles of her arms’ nerves, until the split towards her digits where her veins turn just as dark. My fingers brush inwards of the flat, long leaf, feeling for the margin of each leaf and downwards to the bottom. The fingertips gently caress the underside of her central muscular vein, while my thumbs brush along the upper side. Her mandibles twitch. She makes a fluttering little sigh. Is she actually enjoying this? I step up towards the bowl. She leans back, gently pulling on my arms to join her. Water and beads of perlite begin to wash out of her bowl when I set my knee down and clamber up, both of us sinking a few centimetres downwards while my thighs almost entirely are going underwater. Damn, she likes her roots in cold water! I shiver against the chill, while I feel four of her limbs move from my arms towards towards the two limbs hugging my own body, embracing my naked chest and sides. Her entire body feels cool, firm, hard. Only the motile roots of her lower trunk feel soft in comparison, curling around my rump and my glutes until she’s actually squeezing my cheeks. Awkwardness aside, we do overcome our concerns about staying in the bowl without either of us falling out. I look up at her face craning down towards me, regarding me openly and with absolutely uncurbed interest. Two of her leaves brush against my pectoral muscles and follow the curve of my chest towards my armpits, while the lower four wander south across my stomach and towards my groin. All things considered, Shahed’s touch is not at all uncomfortable. Shahed lowers her head towards mine, surprising me in her approach. But she’s nudging with her rounded snout and mouthparts towards my face, parting them to slowly pull and taste at my lips. I open my lips for her, and she casually dips her taper of her mouthparts towards my open mouth. I dare reach up with my taster towards her sharp mandibles, pressing them inwards against her head, pushing up into her labium and open gullet. It’s actually warmer inside of her than outside of her epidermal layers, and surprisingly soft and meaty. She freezes in place, only letting her leaves wander across my body. I have free range to let my tongue wander her mouth – or more accurately her throat, feeling oddly very comfortable with kissing her past the sharp mandibles and rostrum. Then again, she is also very accommodating, her lower body whistling with a low exhalation. She tastes faintly sweet, no more than human spit might at times. Emboldened, I press her head closer against my face, kissing her all the deeper. For what it’s worth, she is very into it, and I can feel how her muscular throat actually begins to twitch and swallow around my tongue. A weird sensation, but I can’t say I don’t like it. She doesn’t pull back, though, absolutely content in letting me explore her maw, letting my muscle wander across the plant’s gullet and against the pointed ridges in her mouth. In our shared kiss, she lets her digits wander across the darker, wrinkling skin of my nipples, actually squeezing lightly at them. I groan lightly in response, which actually causes her to pull back from my mouth with opening irises. “That felt very strange. But it felt very warm, too. Very wet. I liked it. Better than the misting bottle.” That’s one way to compare a human kiss to invading a mouth that otherwise cannot or probably hasn’t ever kissed before. Now I’m wondering if misting and following up with kisses or licks across her epidermis would be a welcome little addition to her bodycare. “So why do you have these, Jamal? Human males do not lactate, do they?” I laugh after her, reaching up along the criss-crossing scales of firm leaf-matter making up her flowering stalk. The scales are a part of why she can move her body so fluidly to begin with, despite being a mostly sessile plant otherwise. My fingers roam across the tightly-packed scales of her trunk, until my fingertips find the vine-like, soft muscular column of her neck and the broad mantle of blossoms surrounding the central flower rising up from her slender stalk body. I sit just slightly lower than her, all things considered. I pretty much am with my face in a sea of red petals. “Normally, no,” I answer after her. “But they’re an evolutionary holdover.” I groan slightly against another squeeze that actually has her digits’ dentate margins. Palmate dentate? I guess that’s the best way to describe the way her fingers look, botanically speaking. It’s not quite like a nail, nowhere near as firm. But it does have an edge that could cut, if she were of the mind to put her muscle into it. She pulls back from my nipples, making the tiny tips ache against her touch. “What are you feeling?” Shahed asks me, her voice low above my head. “Squeezing. And you pulling. It’s nice,” I answer. “It’s nice,” Shahed parrots after me, noting my response keenly. Her roaming hands at my stomach draw circles along my navel, and outwards from my abdominals towards my sides. Her lower hands at my groin idly groom my curls, until she finds my penis. It’s weird how I’ve actually gone hard under her ministrations, all things considered. Her cool leaves on my swelling cock actually cause me to grow firmer, or warmer, quicker than she had anticipated. “So warm!” she chirps pleasantly, gently wrapping her fingers around my girth. I can feel how her leaf-like digits fold and mould around my shaft, slowly pulling back my foreskin and eliciting another surprised cry from the Shoot. “Oh, so that’s your root!” Holy Pancreator, I can’t believe she actually said that. We’re both laughing with each other, it’s silly how that works, but I’m leaning back from her to watch how my shaft looks in her green embrace, while she looks at my cock like it was another limb of mine that she had only passing knowledge of. When we’re back to quieting down, I actually lean in on the sea of petals around her central flower, nuzzling into the tiny tripinnatisect branch terminuses, feeling how the pleasantly fragrant flowers press into my cheeks and chin and nose. Tiny golden threads peek out of the tiny two-petal flowers. I hadn’t quite looked that closely into her flowers like that, obviously, so I’m somewhat surprised at what I see. “Filaments?” Shahed chirps up above me. “And anthers. Full stamens, yes,” she confirms. Wait a minute. “Those are male reproductive organs,” I say with a flat tone. “Those are male reproductive organs,” Shahed repeats after me. Her. Male reproductive organs. I pull back a moment to feel with my left hand’s fingers across the flowers and the tiny threads of gold rising from the flowers. I feel how her leaves brush along the back of my head. She actually turns my head towards the large, rosy chalice of a flower in the indent of her central stalk. I narrow my eyes, and find the flower lacking stamens at all. Just a rather profoundly protruding golden stalk with a spongy tip rising from the centre of the flower, the style with the stigma. Her female reproductive organs. Huh. Of course. “Perfect flowers have both organs.” “Yes, we do. Separated, though.” I smirk up at her. “So that makes you a guy too?” “Oh most surely not. Though we don’t quite have a separation of genders. Just sexual organs. Part of our symbiosis with our pollinator animal spe-heee!” I gently prod with my left pointer finger across the sticky-looking stigma, which causes her to squirm in place and interrupt an otherwise assuredly informative lesson in Shoot gender studies vis a vis botany principles. I slowly feel past petals along the curve of the golden stalk inside of her chalice. I can’t get very far in, obviously. Actually, that’s all there is to her stigma, maybe six centimetres or so. So her ovaries must be inferior, deep within the cavity of her flower’s body that is. Curious how I learn something about plant biology like this. I almost forgot she’s actually responding to my crude finger’s touching into the base of her flower. She’s notedly squirming her lower half of her trunk, her hands barely able to continue wandering over my body. She’s actually just holding my dick while I was, pardon the pun, fingering her flower. There’s a chitter and click of her mandibles as she tries to assert her voice again, before I find myself pushing back against her stigma with my finger again which causes her to squeak out. I’m actually getting ideas here. I lean in with my nose towards her central stalk’s flower, carefully nudging the spongy tip of her style until I actually have my lips brushing it, my breath rolling in warm against a very sticky surface. I dare touch her. Lick her stigma. Lick up her honey. By the Emperor, she tastes so deliciously sweet and sticky. I feel her stiffen and squirm back again, but this time, she’s actually squeezing at my penis. Stroking it with two hands. Her two hands at my hips lower along my thighs and groin. Her mobile roots wrap closer around my rump, squeezing my thighs as well. I feel how she pulls me in, lets my naked skin press into waxy epidermis and pliant stomach. I continue to lick at her stigma, feeling more sticky, almost gluey nectar ooze from her nectaries. My tongue can only reach so far in, obviously, without tearing her flower. When I pull back from her central flower, she’s actually regarding me through half-closed eyes, her diaphragms twitching from the ministrations so far. “How’d that feel?” I ask in turn. “I never thought I could feel something like this from pistil manipulation,” she says with a soft, quiet voice. “Human tongues are weird.” “Didn’t like it?” She pulls herself up against my chest and stomach, grinding her softer stomach into my erection. The slow grind of her waxen skin against my shaft is actually quite agreeable. “I loved it! So wet. So warm. Curling around every flaring nerve ending and making me leak more nectar than I ever needed to and–“ “Tastes nice, actually.” Another yank from her arms to the back of my head and my sides. “Dig in then, Jamal.” Who am I to deny her then? My lips purse and find the style once more, my tongue trailing the flat, spongy tissue of her female organ’s tip. After a quick lather, I dig past it along the nectar-coated length of her style, and feel how she bucks and grinds up against me again. Her neck cants back, her lower body is actually heaving through the breathing holes along her trunk. She’s actually gasping for breath while my tongue lavishes the firm style and laps up the tasty sweetness of her nectar. Actually, pretty close to what I remember from the commercial agave hybrid colonies I used to breed before taking this job. Tasty. Probably very nutritious, besides. I push back against her body, grinding in time to her motions. My cock is trapped between our bellies, and soon is grasped by her lowest two manipulator leaves for squeezes and clumsy masturbation. She draws my foreskin back easily with each pump, but her pacing is barely in time with our bodies humping together. To Shahed’s credit, she’s into it quite a bit, and manages to keep pumping at my shaft while I twist my tongue around in lavish circles around her firm style. My hot breath rolls into her flower. I take in her sweetened scent, I can’t really place it. I just want more of it, though. I press into her chest closer, sucking at the golden organ jutting from her flower’s chalice, absolutely lavishing it with the warmth of my tongue, sucking at it even and returning to lick the sweetness she oozes from her pores. My body’s humping up into the cool flesh of her body, the plump abdomen pushing inwards to my slow thrusts. She feels amazing against my dick, enveloping me with the waxy skin pressing against my own. Harder I go, sucking at her still while her voice goes higher and higher. Until I hear her cry out. “Ow. Ow! Stopstopstopstop...” I pull back from her flower at heart’s height, looking down at her worriedly. She doesn’t look too perturbed, her range of facial expression only going so far after all, but she’s actually stroking at her two leaf arms with two other leaved hands. A crack in both her leaves is leaking fluids from the top of her cracked leaves. “Oh god, are you alright?” My concern is clear on my face, and it actually shocks her, causing her to reel back a bit. “I’m fine, Jamal, I’m fine. Just tore some of the margins and the dermis. They’ll heal. I just can’t use those two arms for the duration of the Jump,” she assures me, sounding more annoyed than anything. “’s What I get for trying to rub your own style like that.” “Actually, I think it’s more akin to your stamen,” I object. Shahed leans back towards me, carefully using her aching arms’ hands to stroke my thighs while two more hands gently pump my penis at a much slower pace. “Or maybe you humans have your biology mixed up. But obviously this won’t work if you’re licking my style. Did... um. Humping me feel nice?” “Yeah, you do feel nice.” Shahed gives a slight narrow of her irises, her mouthparts twitching and clattering. “I want to make you feel nice, but this doesn’t work. So. Um. How about I give back what you did to my style?” “I sucked yours, you suck mine?” The Shoot laughs after my remark. She gives my penis another light squeeze before she leans back up from me, regarding me with wide-open eyes again. “I’m not sure if it works that well. Or even feel good for you. But I’d like to try.” I smile up at the slender plant, lowering my hands to caress her roots. “I’d like you to try.” Shahed shivers a moment. “C-Careful,” she chirps. “Sensitive.” “I know. Remind me to try pruning with my mouth and teeth next time.” If Shoots can blush, this’d probably be the right time for that. Instead, Shahed cries out and shakes her head, covering her central flower with her four good arms. “Come on. Get out of the bowl,” she admonishes me. I’m happy to oblige, balancing myself to get back out of the bowl until I’m standing on the floor proper again, dripping from my legs with water still. I remove all my clothes save my coat from the chair, settling down on it with my legs spread. Shahed lowers herself in her bowl, almost sprawling out in the half-dome container towards me. I pull my chair towards her, and press my knees toward the edge of the bowl. Her hands rest on my knees proper, her slender neck and rounded head hovering over my groin. Her irises close until her eyes are but sky blue pinpricks, and she lowers herself towards my erection. Her mouthparts part wider than they did for my tongue, and I can tell she’s actually forcing herself to spread her mandibles further apart just to fit my cock in. She’s not too concerned, however. She’s taking it at her own pace, and she’s actually sliding in my tip past the crown into the cool, snug confines of her gullet. Even without a tongue, there’s plenty to work with from her perspective. Her throat relaxes, constricts, relaxes and swallows me further down steadily. Centimetre by centimetre until she’s halfway down, opening up her eyes to regard me from an angle. She pulls her head back, her hard plates of her mouth stretching back lewdly and showing yellow flesh underneath. Then, with a long and drawn-out squelch, her head sinks back onto my dick, swallowing my length further down yet. She pulls back. She pushes her head back down. Every time she does, she goes just a little further, just a little deeper. Everything feels like it fits together as if it’s mean to. I go light in my head, gripping my chair as I regard her fitting in more and more of my turgid shaft. Her abdomen is heaving and pumping slowly for air. I let my fingers wander along her mantle of male flowers and along her stalk body, caressing the abdominal trunk gently. Her breathing hitches just slightly before she relaxes for me, letting her muscular neck pump away at my dick slowly but steadily. I swear, I had no idea I’d ever end up with learning to enjoy the pleasures of a plant orally satisfying me in ways I never had a human woman service me before. My hands slowly wander back up along her back and mantle, until I am stroking the firm epidermis of her head, gently pushing down on her downwards stroke. I feel how her throat contracts in response to my touch. “That’s right... Suck my staff, beautiful flower,” I gently urge her, pulling my fingers away from her as she draws her head back. The air leaves her trunk and her maw with something like a moan. She’s gorgeous in her sinuous motions, lewd sucking and squelching filling the hydroponics level as she easily uses her throat for my enjoyment. Everything works out to our pace, and what little concerns I had about being found like this melt away. I wrap my hands around her head and just below at her muscular neck, stroking at her waxy skin, but forcing nothing. In response, she holds up a single hand, forming a tiny O between two of her three digits. I take my cue, pulling her head back and guiding her to a rhythm more to my liking. Faster, but not by much. Every time her smooth head almost bumps into my groin, I can feel how her muscles contract, how her walls and her epidermis harden and thicken. She’s so deliciously tight around me. “Swallow me, habibi,” I coo down towards her. She responds with another tight contraction of her throat and gullet, and I hold her in place, stroking her neck and the back of her head until I guide her for my next thrusts. “Keep going, yes... That’s right, Shahed, ‘eni.” I guide to pump her up and down faster and faster yet. I call her everything. My houri, my light in my eye, my sweet and darling and more. I realize I’m meaning it. I don’t even know if she understands every bit of Arabic. But I do feel her work my shaft faster still, right in time to my guidance. I feel her throat tighten even on my downward strokes. I go light in my head, my hips bucking up to meet her mouthparts. I feel the pressure mount from my root. And then I let go of her. She finishes me off with but the rapid swallowing contractions of her gullet and her slowly pulling her entire maw over the length of my dick before impaling herself again on my length. A plant has no right to be sexy or appealing like so, but I feel the last vestiges of restraint leave me. I submit to her. I groan and grip the chair. She pulls her head back and twists her head just so, one eye meeting with mine. With a low, drawn-out moan, I feel the first thick ropes of my seed spill into her mouth, slowly pouring down into her throat as she nurses on my bare tip. I see her throat contract, her neck slightly lift and then fall. She swallows me as I spill my seed into this gorgeous plant creature, until I feel the warmth pool in her mouth. She pops me free from her mouth, her mouthparts hanging a little loose from her face while she positively leaks with seed and saliva from her stretched maw. But perhaps the most enticing thing yet, is when she pulls herself up and lets the mixture of her throat’s lubrication and my semen actually pour over her throat and neck and into the very chalice of her female flower. Her eyes narrow at me, she knows I realize what she’s doing – pouring my seed into her body. Shahed’s slowly letting her firm leaves pump at my still oozing dick until she’s got her fingers and palms covered in the stuff. She lazily rolls back until she’s on her back in the bowl and across my lap, fingering her flower with one hand’s digits, while pumping my softening shaft with the other languidly. I can only imagine what’s going through her head while she masturbates her style with her fingers coated in my cum. I stroke her firm, green stalk and neck with my own fingers, caressing the spent Shoot tenderly. “I suppose now I have an answer to their taunts next time, habibi.” Shahed slowly nuzzles against the underside of my cock, letting her mouthparts lazily trail my shaft and the glistening foreskin until she angles herself so that she can nurse at my spent organ. She makes an amused little chortle, before it dies down in vocal moaning, slurping at my penis, cleaning it with gentle rakes of her mandibles. My fingers gently run up her small face, brushing along her sides, cupping her closer towards me. “Habibi,” she parrots after me. “It means love,” I fill in for her. Shahed regards me with wide-open irises for a short while, before her eyes slowly close to pinpricks once more, happily nuzzling back into my shrinking dick. I reach over with my left hand, joining her digits at her flower for soft caresses at her style. Yes, I suppose I do have that answer. Yes, I am indeed fucking the plant.