It's Legal on Other Planets! Ch. 03

Taking only a moment to slow my breath, I eventually released Stacy, who leaned on the counter heavily. "Oh wow thank you, Kyle," she huffed.

Monica didn't wait on anyone's afterglow. In a flash, she grabbed both a dish towel and the discarded pile of my boxer-briefs and gym shorts. She wiped away the intimate fluids running down my leg while thrusting the clothes into my hands.

"Blue military uniforms means Air Force, right?" she asked.

I blinked. "Uh, yeah? I mean it's a lighter blue than—"

"There are two Air Force people waiting at the front door to talk to you."

I blinked again. "Oh shit, are you serious?"

"I would not make that up," Monica assured me quite seriously. "I'm guessing from all the military bling on their uniforms that they ain't a couple of nobodies, but I don't really know all that G.I. Joe crap."

I slipped my underwear and shorts on. "What do they want?"

"They wanna talk to one of the residents and named you and Alyssa. They wouldn't take 'go away' for an answer from me. You're gonna have to talk to them."

"What do they know?" I asked, hurriedly buttoning my shirt.

"That the window's busted and that someone back here was just getting her brains fucked out by a guy named Kyle," Monica half-scowled and half-smirked. "Not much else, I'd bet, but I don't really know. So you'd better go deal with 'em."

"Hopefully they're not here to just haul me away," I grumbled. Given everything I'd been through in the last 24 hours, the thought that repeated in my mind as I moved toward the front door was, Please be Samantha Carter. Please be Samantha Carter. Please be Samantha...

I opened the door. No. Not Samantha Carter. Definitely not anyone from the TV show. But the brunette was cute. And a captain. Standing beside her and maybe a step ahead was a tall man with a major's oak leaves on his lapels. For some reason, I instantly thought that was kinda sexist, but then I had other problems, because the major started talking.

"Are you Hospital Corpsman 2nd Class Kyle McLoughlin?" he asked gravely. I couldn't help but glance at the brunette, knowing I must look like a complete goon in this faded blue and white Hawaiian shirt. I thought I saw her lips twitch, but she didn't smile. Clearly she had a good poker face.

I had been really nervous about this about three seconds earlier. Air Force officers showing up at my (housemate's) doorstep the night after I find out about all this alien business? And me just starting out in what was already a ridiculously kick-ass civilian life? I really did have visions of the military hauling me back in, and either sticking me in Leavenworth or pulling some sort of forced-reenlistment bullshit to send me back into combat.

Only I really did see the captain's lips twitch, and the major just had to go and ask me that, and it was all I could do not to say, "That's Lord McLoughlin of House McLoughlin to you, dude." I didn't say that, though. I couldn't. But I now I had to fuck with him.

"I'm discharged now, Major Johansen," I said. "It's just Kyle McLoughlin. Mister, if you want to be formal." My eyes turned to his companion. "Morning, Captain Hughes," I nodded politely.

Johansen's head turned curiously. I saw Hughes's lips twitch again. "We're wearing nametags, sir," she said very quietly.

To be honest, it had been done to me, too. It just never stops being weird.

Johansen quickly recovered. He gestured to the pile of broken glass on the front porch. "You appear to have had quite a night," he said.

"I did. Couldn't help myself," I shrugged.

"Could we come in and talk?"

"I've got some company right now, actually," I replied—and suddenly remembered that hot-as-hell Monica had just answered this door in a bathrobe while they could clearly hear Stacy and I going at it. Hell, half the neighborhood might've heard. "Plus I'm not really at my best. I'm hardly even dressed. What time is it?"

"Ten twenty-three," Johansen said without looking at his watch. "Mr. McLoughlin, I'm sure you know why we're here."

"I really don't."

He cleared his throat and folded his hands in front of him. "Last night, some sort of low-flying vehicle entered and left this area. There was no flight plan, nor would it have been remotely legal. Neighbors reported strange lights in the area. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

I frowned, gave it a moment's feigned consideration, and then shook my head. "Not a clue," I told him. I put on my best I'm-embarrassed-to-be-this-awesome voice and admitted, "I was kind of distracted last night. I've got company, like I said."

"Mr. McLoughlin, would it surprise you to know that this isn't the first time such an incident has taken place in this area?"

I blinked. "Yeah, a little. Man, you think it's some of those drones the police department keeps talking about buying? I haven't lived here long. I suppose there might be some sort of illegal activity in the neighborhood. Lotta meth labs in King County. Maybe you should check with the police?"

"Cut the crap, corpsman," Johansen scowled. "You know exactly why I'm here."

"Major, I was medically discharged from the Navy," I said. "I'm not physically qualified to be a corpsman anymore. It says so in my health file. Whole bunch of officers decided that for me. I signed all my discharge papers. I'm not a corpsman. I'm a civilian. So please stop trying to pull the military card on me, 'cause I'm not gonna pop to attention and I'm not gonna salute.

"Also, you're not an 'I'm here.' You're a 'we're here.' You're not alone, remember?"

His goat thoroughly gotten, Johansen immediately choked back a reply that would surely have been delivered in anger. His companion cleared her throat and stepped up beside him with a slightly less confrontational look on her face.

"Mr. McLoughlin," said Captain Hughes, "we're concerned that the incident last night might indicate a threat to public safety, or even national security. In looking at who lived in the neighborhood, your name came up as someone we thought we might be able to work with."

"I'm certainly interested in public safety and national security, captain," I replied. It was easier to be nice to a nicer approach. My smile had returned, though I tried not to let it grow too big lest my taunting of the major go too far. "Can you tell me what specifically you're concerned about? What you think might be flying around here?"

Those lips didn't twitch this time, but they did purse up a bit. "I'm afraid we can't do that," she said. "You don't have the security clearance."

"Ah. Well. Can't say I'm shocked there. But if you can't tell me what it is you're looking for, then I can't really tell you if I've seen it or heard it or really much of anything. But if you want to give me some contact info, I promise I'll let you know if and when I see something like you've described."

"We can do that," the captain said. She pulled out her wallet to retrieve a business card. I fought down another smile. Of course she had a business card. She was Air Force. Sigh.

"Your, ah—guest?—said that Ms. Summers was out of town when she answered the door. Is that correct?"

"It is," I nodded, frowning just a little. "I don't really have a way to get ahold of her right now, either. One of those 'I'm leaving town and turning off my phone' sort of trips. Hell, I couldn't even point you in the direction she went."

"That seems a little reckless," Johansen commented. "What if someone had an emergency?"

"We're both adults," I told him. "I trust her to take care of herself."

Johansen snorted. Hughes maintained her pleasant, diplomatic composure. I wanted to tear her clothes off and see what she was like when she dropped the mask. I remembered, then, what Monica had said about needing to learn how to control my arousal. I folded my hands in front of my groin to conceal what would doubtlessly be a raging erection in about five seconds and resolved to cut this short.

"I've got some things to get back to inside," I said, and then winced a little as I saw Hughes's lips twitch with sharply-controlled amusement once again. "That and I've gotta be ready for when the glass guy shows up to fix the window. But I'll keep my eye out for flying stuff."

Hughes offered up a tactful smile. It was entirely possible that she straight-up didn't like me and was just covering it perfectly. Or maybe she liked me just fine and thought Johansen was an idiot. Either way, she was a professional about it, and holy shit did that just make her more attractive. "Thank you for your time, Mr. McLoughlin," she said, offering her hand.

"Call me Kyle," I said, risking the handshake. Aaaand yup. It happened. Skin on skin contact with the naturally pretty, plainly intelligent, no-makeup and no-bullshit woman in the officer's uniform was enough to get me well on the way to full erection. What's more, she didn't let go right away, and I couldn't just stand there with my other hand covering my groin, so I had to let that one just drop and goddammit, why did I have to leave off with all this feeling embarrassed?

Then she stepped away, and her eyes drifted down for what was almost surely no reason at all, and then I saw her blush and turn away. Dammit!

"I expected more cooperation out of someone with your service record," Johansen grunted as he walked away without offering a handshake of his own, which would've been fine since it would've been a total buzzkill.

Hughes stiffened just a little as he said that, but kept walking. That told me a whole lot. They hadn't just looked at listed residents in the neighborhood and taken note of veterans. They'd actually reviewed my file—to what extent, I didn't know, but that wasn't the point. They'd reviewed it, and pretended all they'd done was check for vets, and we'd had that whole "we know you know what we think you know" conversation under that pretext... and Johansen had gone and blown it, and Hughes knew he'd blown it.

So now I knew that Johansen was a hot-tempered douche, and Hughes was a sharp professional stuck working with him. Funny how often that sort of thing happens. Why can't all the douchebags be kept at the lower rungs?

The two got in their black sedan and drove off while I stepped back into the doorway and watched. I didn't close the door until they'd gone, and not until my eyes had swept the street several times for... I don't know what.

"Is that all taken care of?" Monica asked as she slipped around the door. "Normally I'm good at getting people to go away, but—wow, are you horny," she blinked as she moved closer.

"Oh man," I grumbled, looking down at my groin. Then I frowned. Yeah, I had a raging hard-on, but it was straight upright and only tenting a little, thankfully concealed now by my shirt. I looked up at Monica quizzically.

"It's the benefits package," she shrugged, coming in close to me and putting a hand around my neck. "You get to learn how to sense it." She drew me close. The hand on my neck felt wonderful. The one she slipped down my shorts to take hold of my shaft felt even better. "We'll help you out, don't worry."

"I'm not sure how much we should talk about this," I said quietly. My eyes closed and my head bowed a little to touch hers. Wow, that felt good. "Now I'm a little paranoid that someone might be listening."

"If they had this place bugged, they'd know everything already, wouldn't they?"

I nodded. "Yeah. You're right."

"We'll save the heavy discussions for when we're back upstairs and you've had a moment to clear your head," she winked. Monica all but led me by my cock into the kitchen, where Stacy stood by a gorgeous breakfast spread all along the stove and countertops with a pensive look.

"Everything okay?" she asked, smirking at the sight of Monica's grip but knowing better than to presume that meant everything was just fine.

"I think," Monica said, deliberately walking over to throw the sink on "we need to talk this out after breakfast."

Stacy's eyes met mine—which fluttered a little as Monica kept playing with me. "Are you in trouble? Or Alyssa?"

I gave it a moment's consideration. "I don't think so, or they'd have done something more than talk to me," I said. "They wouldn't come out and say what they were looking for, but they heavily implied that they knew I know. Kind of leaves me wondering how close they're gonna watch the house, though. I wonder if maybe we should make ourselves scarce...?"

She frowned. "I was hoping you'd take us shopping," she said, "but after that, do you really want to leave the house alone for any amount of time?"

I got what she meant instantly. A lot could happen to the house in a short period of time. "No. Good point."

Stacy slipped in close. "I'm not worried. We've got friends in high places."

Monica's hand kept pleasuring me. It had the effect of taking the edge off my arousal's urgency, as at least it was being tended to, but it didn't make me feel any less aroused. "I'm having trouble thinking clearly," I confessed.

"We know," both of my playmates grinned.

* * *

We played all day and night after that. Play was ultimately what we decided to call it, though there's a lot to be said about all the space between "fucked" and "made love." It became obvious that I wasn't the only one who needed some intimate, affectionate release. Sometimes we laughed and talked. Sometimes we grew too passionate for that. Stacy and Monica alternated between sharing me and taking turns, indulging my every whim and happily tempting me into satisfying theirs, and a couple times they just pushed me aside and made me watch. They were mindful of my condition and my needs and enjoyed the hell out of taking care of me.

It seemed a little insane at first: there were aliens, and they had made a mess of Alyssa's living room, and a dude had to come by to fix the window, and oh by the way the Air Force was totally watching the house to some unknown extent... and there was nothing we could do about any of it. Couldn't call Alyssa. Couldn't run away and hide. Couldn't just hash it out with the zoomies or summon the green guys and the Air Force to a meeting and say, "Hey, you know what? This is between you guys. We're out."

But nobody bothered us after that. The window was fixed. Stacy was a talented, enthusiastic cook, and we had plenty of cash to call for deliveries if we wanted anything we didn't have... and Sunday and Monday were no different than Saturday.

We avoided certain topics out of mutual consent. Monica and Stacy both gently but firmly refused to explain anything on Alyssa's behalf. We talked about our lives, about their careers and their time in college and my time in the military. Stacy worked in finance, though after a couple of college internships with big-name, ruthless companies she decided to go to work in the non-profit sector. Monica was an architect, and after some prodding to see pictures of her work on her company's website, I found out that she was a very good one. The more I learned, the more fascinated I was.

We talked about future dates and boundaries—which mostly amounted to "we don't have to be exclusive but don't leave me feeling like chopped liver." We compared relationship scars. We laughed together. There were one-on-one conversations still to be had, about the particulars of Stacy's submissive preferences and such, but we were comfortable letting that ride. Our relationships had space and time to grow. The weekend wasn't about negotiations. The weekend was about indulgence and fantasy.

We had a hot, naked, uninhibited long weekend of constant sex, and we bonded hard. Whatever else might come, I had this much, and it was well beyond anything I'd ever dreamt of having.