Mothman’s words came back:cursed. What did that mean? I hoped my mom and aunt would have some clue because I’d never heard them talk much about curses.
Mothman scribbled something out and then held the journal out to me. When I grabbed it he brushed my fingers before pulling away.
“Pollux,” I said out loud, reading his name. Mothman moved behind me and his arms wrapped around my body. His hand covered mine, gripping the journal with me as he wrote more. His fingers were so much longer than normal.
He had to have heard what Caspian said earlier—that he wanted us close. Was Mothman going to make a move here and now? In these caves? It seemed like horrible timing but when was good timing? When we left these caves he might not even be able to come with us back to civilization. Maybe this was the only chance we had to get close.
I didn’t want him to leave after this. Not at all.
“Pollux means very sweet,” he scribbled. That made me smile.
“Are there others like you?” I asked. He took the journal back as he moved to stand in front of me again. His fingers gently pressed beneath my chin, lifting my face up before he nodded. “Where? Close?” I asked. He shook his head.
He began to trace my jaw with his fingers. I thought about all those drawings he made of us. The thing between his legs had looked like a thick, twisted twig with bumpy knobs. There had been a bend in it too. He moved his fingers away. I looked at my dirty shoes and swallowed, wondering how accurate the drawings were.
He made a gruff noise and I looked up. Clutched in his hands was another journal, this one looked more worn and slightly smaller. He brushed the material with his fingers then he held it out for me to take.
“What is this?” I asked, taking it from him. It felt like leather but was green, with a shimmering gold sheen. A hint of a sweet floral smell wafted from the material.
He reached towards the diary and opened the front of it. There were strange shapes that looked alien—dots, squares, and squiggles.
“Is this your mother language?” I asked and he nodded, flipping the page. On the back was a translation. My eyes dragged over the words. They started in French but quickly shifted to English as if he changed his mind about which language to use. I flipped to the next page and saw he continued the translation entirely in English.
His hand came up, settling over the page, hiding the words. He looked unsure, his eyes cast down at his hand on the diary. He was nervous about me reading it, I realized.
“I’ll read it later,” I said tentatively, watching his movements. His red glowing eyes slid up to my face and he nodded, pulling his hand back. I closed the diary and ran my hand over the material. It was thick and bumpy. At first, I thought of animal leather but now I wondered if it was made from some type of plant.
“Later,” I sighed, wishing I could read it now. I pressed it into my back pocket. It was small enough to fit nicely. He adjusted his hat on my head again then stepped closer to me. I felt my heart beat faster.
“Should I call you Pollux?” I blurted, trying to fill in the moment with something distracting. He stepped forward and I stepped back. His head tipped to the side at my action then he stepped forward again. I stepped back and hit the wall.
“Or would you prefer Mothman?” I asked before swallowing. He shook his head. “Pollux?” I asked and he nodded, his hand coming up to cradle my jaw. His thumb brushed my chin, sweeping under my lip. My breathing picked up. It was just me and him… alone.
He stood there observing me, watching all my small reactions to him. It made me fidget more, playing with the edges of my shorts. He pulled the normal journal back out.
“What are you nervous about?”He wrote.
“Nothing,” I rasped out. “We should keep going,” I said quickly. He tilted his head then wrote more.
“Let’s rest for a little more.”I read his words and could sense the subtext. Pollux leaned down. I sucked in a breath, not sure what I was expecting. His soft feelers bent down and gently ghosted over my lips, tracing the edges. He shoved his journal back in a pocket and leaned closer, both hands now holding my face.
“I—” I started but didn’t know what to say. I was confused. I was excited. There were butterflies, or moths, in my stomach fluttering around. He bent down and red eyes burned into mine before I felt the softest, silkiest fur rub across the side of my face.
My hands came up, burying into the fur around his neck. It fluffed up some when I touched it and I thrust my fingers in deeper until my hands were swallowed by it. He pressed his face against mine again, rubbing against me like a cat. His feelers brushed from my temples, down my cheeks, then traced my lips.
It felt like he was showering me with affection, pressing us close and intimate. I relaxed, enjoying the texture of his fur, the brush of his face against mine, his large body covering me in this cave.
He pulled back and looked at my mouth. His fingers pressed into my lips. We couldn’t kiss, could we? It didn’t seem like he had the right parts for that. His tongue was thin and long, his lips were nonexistent. Regardless of that, he leaned forward, his mouth hovering a couple inches from mine. He pressed his fingers into my mouth, gently opening it up and brushing one clawed finger on the soft, wet top of my tongue.
I moved my tongue over his finger, tasting him. He was earthy. He made a low noise of approval and then his thin tongue slid out of his mouth. He moved his fingers out of my mouth and held my jaw in a firm grip, keeping my mouth open as his long tongue slid into my mouth. My breathing picked up as I felt his tongue slide across mine and then begin towraparound.
It twirled around, wrapping around over and over like a vine, squeezing my tongue, massaging it, pulling it slightly. I felt like a bug in a trap, my mouth held open, my tongue captured in his. I sucked in a breath and leaned towards him, strangely enjoying it.
As he continued to hold my mouth open for him, drool began to slide from the corner of my mouth. His eyes watched as it slid down onto his fingers. His tongue rhythmically constricted around mine and then pulled until my tongue was hanging half out of my mouth for him to look at. He swept a finger down our combined tongues, feeling the texture and wetness.
My face felt hot and saliva was all over my chin and his fingers. This felt intimate but also perverted—his tongue latching to mine and pulling it out, making me drool on myself. His eyes looked over my embarrassing face. I probably looked stupid but his tongue kept massaging mine rhythmically, tugging on it. I wondered if he was memorizing my expression to draw later.
His hands came up, gripping my waist as he made a deep noise of pleasure. He apparently liked the messy way I looked. His hat fell from my head and hit the floor of the tunnel as one of his hands brushed forward, sweeping to the front of my pelvis.
