I'm really thankful for all of the reviews~ I just got into this fandom, so the more you review, the faster I update. AND LOOK, I'M STAYING TRUE TO MY WORD. ALREADY AN UPDATE oh so delicious. (Literally)

It wasn't a dream. It wasn't a dream, and Kyle was hysterical.

It took him a while to wake up and analyze his surroundings. He had believed that he had been at home, at first, but then when he rubbed his eyes and looked again, memories of the night rained down on him. Panic seized his body, taking control of his mind by a leash and tugging him to the brink of insanity. It was hard to breathe. It was hard to think through the terror. Kyle had pinched himself over and over, begging to wake up, but he felt the pain and the fear. He bit himself multiple times, anything to create enough pain to wake up from the horrible, horrible dream.

But it wasn't a dream. None of it had been a dream. He was in another white room, cluttered with alien fabric, fabric that could be shaped to fit whatever form he desired. And along the walls, were windows. Many, many windows. Windows that showed what was outside.

Blackness. The void of space.

Kyle had hyperventilated when he first realized exactly what was happening. It couldn't- be real. But it was. He rocked, back and forth upon the floor. He didn't remember getting there, or falling asleep. The last thing he remembered was food, foreign tasting food, not quite spicy, not quite sweet, but a mixture of every taste he could think of. He continued rocking, clawing at his arms. Maybe if he bled to death, he could escape- But that was the problem. Kyle didn't believe what was happening, and most of all, Kyle didn't want to die.

The first step of grief is always denial.

He grabbed at his hair, and stopped rocking. His eyes wide, Kyle shook. His teeth chattered and his breathing increased. This wasn't happening. It wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. No, no no nonono! This was all wrong! He was seventeen, he was supposed to be at his home, learning how to drive, playing Game Sphere with his friends, getting a girlfriend and taking her to prom, not- not- not here. But he wasn't 'here', he couldn't be. None of it could be real. Kyle panicked.

Why? Why was he here? What had he done to have damned himself to such a place? But he wasn't there, he wasn't there in the first place. Yes, he was still at home, sleeping, dreaming. Yes, he h-had to be dreaming, there was no other explanation. A dream, a dream, a dream!

Kyle screamed, suddenly. Threw back his head and screamed bloody murder. Terrified. He pounded his fists on the ground, nails ripping through the material that he sat on, and felt the fabric shape around his fingers, trapping his hands down, catching him as if it knew his anguish and tried to keep him from hurting himself farther.

There was nothing he could do but scream. Maybe he would be saved, his mother would come running into his room and wake him up, relieving him from this horrible, horrible place. As Kyle screamed, he again, began to cry. It humiliated him, a grown boy crying. Boys didn't cry, he was supposed to be a man. But he couldn't help it. He was terrified. There was nothing he could do, his hands restrained, locked inside a white room.

Through his anguish, Kyle didn't hear the hissing noise of the door opening. He continued to sob and scream, jerking his arms away from the ground, his hand coming free with a 'pop'.

His screams stopped suddenly when he felt a hand on the side of his face. Eyes jerking open, he hiccupped slightly with fear when he found he was face forward to the alien. To- Stan. That's what he had called himself. Stan.

They stared at each other for a while, neither moving nor saying anything. Silence stretched out for a long period of time. Faintly, Kyle heard footsteps outside his prison, and his heart dropped when they receded down what he supposed was a hall. Maybe they could have saved him… Then again, it was doubtful. It was highly more than likely that- the person- was an alien as well, and not a person at all.

"No more crying." Kyle jerked and looked up at Stan. He had almost forgotten that he was there. Aware of his presence, the hand on his face felt suddenly freezing.

"F-Fuck you." Kyle swore, and leaned away. He stood up slowly and shakily, looking around for a weapon. Picking up a square, metal object, he held it in front of him as he slowly backed into a corner of the room, right in the junction of the wall and the window. He glared at Stan. Stan looked back at him, calmly, and bile rose in his throat as he saw one of Stan's arms morph into another one of those tentacles. It seemed to be a subconscious reaction, because Stan didn't notice it a bit.

Stan leaned his head to the side, confused. "Word I not know. What is a fuck."

Kyle didn't reply. He narrowed his eyes farther when the alien tried advancing on him. "Stay away!"

A smile graced Stan's lips. He made a purring noise, and the tentacle twitched on the ground. "I no need Kyle, you mine. Now you shh. I make you come." He continued to advance on him, and Kyle shivered, terrified. This was not happening! The rush of emotions made him light headed. There was too much new information to take in all at once. Scared, so scared.

"C-Come near me and I break this window open!" Kyle knew that he couldn't survive in the vacuum of space, and probably, neither could the alien. It was a gamble, but he'd much rather die suffocating then die being eaten by an alien.

Stan laughed and Kyle tightened his hold on the object, which began beeping and making a whirring noise. In the back of his mind (the part of his mind that wasn't focused on terror, controlled by his hypothalamus, anyway), he wondered what it was.

"Silly, come. I not hurt. Window not break, not like Earth window, made out of Nesphytio, not break ever, found on planet Aiew, never break." Stan motioned for him, and Kyle's heart beat rapidly. There was only one way to find out.

Perhaps it was irrational, but Kyle slammed the object against the window anyway. He watched as it smashed into thousands of pieces, the window not following suit. His blood ran cold as he realized that all it had accomplished was to inbed pieces of glass from the object into his hand, instead of breaking the window. He choked, eyes widening as he fell to the floor, cradling his hand. That had hurt, badly. He hadn't realized that the object was made out of such delicate material.

Stan reached his side in record time, tentacle wrapping around his midsection, holding him still. Kyle screeched, but the alien didn't mind. He beat his hands against Stan's shoulder, trying desperately to get away. Struggling hardly helped with Stan's alien strength, and Kyle resumed sobbing. He was scared. Very, very scared. He was in a captive situation, and didn't understand what was happening. Was he truly not on Earth? And if so… what could he do? He couldn't escape, and that was truly the most petrifying aspect. There was no escape in space, having no knowledge of intergalactic travel. Hell, he couldn't even operate a plane, how could he manage to operate an alien space craft?

As he hyperventilated to himself, Stan sat down next to him and patted him on the leg, reaching up to grab one of his hands, the hand that he had gotten glass in. He tried jerking away, but to no avail. Stan eyed his hand. He looked down at it, as if assessing the damage. Then, without warning, Stan leaned down and sucked on his palm.

Kyle shuddered as he felt Stan's tentacle tongue glide over his hand, carefully picking out the pieces of glass and spitting them away. His hand was clear of glass in a matter of minutes. But still, he bled. That, too, Stan fixed. He resumed licking his hand, sucking up the blood from his palm as the tentacle around his waist massaged his stomach gently. Stan lapped at his hand, eyes closed, enjoying the meal. Again Kyle shuddered.

"You taste so good." Stan's eyes flicked up to his own. Kyle stared back, transfixed with fear and morbid fascination at his oddly shaped pupils. "You are cold?"

Kyle hadn't even noticed his own shivering as he looked down at his naked body to confirm the question. He felt shamed, and moved to hide his private parts. Terror was replaced with anger and humiliation. The second stage of grief; rage.

"Of course I'm fucking cold! You take me hear, you strip ne naked, and leave me in a room with no bed!" Kyle screamed, growing so angry that he no longer shook from fear.

Again Stan looked confused. "No bed? But I make you nest. Nice, good F'Eflin." Stan patted the fluffy fabric material that surrounded them. Kyle didn't understand his alien language. He didn't know what the material had been. As far as he knew, it could have been flavoring, so that he was savory when Stan decided to eat him.

"I don't want your crap!" Kyle fumed, struggling harder and wrenching his hand out of Stan's grip. Stan allowed him this movement, and watched as he continued to thrash. It seemed to amuse him. He smiled as he watched him struggle, licking his lips.

Eventually, Kyle tired. There was just no use. Stan was too strong. The tentacle around him had turned back into the alien's arm at some point. But even then he couldn't escape. It was futile, and Kyle eventually just slumped in the crook of his arm, breathing heavily.

"Good…" Stan seemed to be pleased that he had stopped resisting, and licked the side of his face. Kyle hiccupped, and tried digging his nails into his arm, something, anything to hurt him, but his arm turned almost goo-like when he tried. "You eat now?" He was excited, and stood up, hauling Kyle up with him. Kyle struggled for a moment longer before again collapsing, and moaning out a loud 'no.'

This didn't seem to deter Stan in the slightest. He hummed and moved to the door, which hissed open when he set his hand on it. Kyle was left alone in the room for a while, laying still on the fluffy material, again aware that he was naked. Maybe he could make some makeshift clothes out of it… But it didn't seem like it would rip. Kyle vaguely wondered about the properties of the foreign material.

Tears returned to his eyes as he waited for Stan. He slumped over onto his side, staring at the white F'Eflin, poking at it. He didn't want to be here. He didn't know what was going on. And suddenly, it him.

An alien.

He was with an alien.

Aliens existed.

He began to hyperventilate, pupils dialating. What was happening, what was going on, why was he here, why wasn't this a dream.

Because it wasn't, was it? It wasn't a dream, not a nightmare. It was actually happening. He could feel the fabric beneath his body, smell the harsh scent in the air, see outside into the void of space as they passed thousands of tiny pinprick stars. Everything was alien. Everything. There was nothing familiar here. This wasn't Earth. This wasn't Earth, and Kyle felt suddenly alone.

Why him? Why had he been brought here? It was just- too- surreal. He remembered back to watching all of those alien abduction shows on the History Chanel (which had gone to crap, he might add). He had thought those people had been insane, sobbing on TV about how scared they were to get visited at night, how the aliens would return, conduct tests on them. His blood ran cold. He had thought those people were crazy. But that's what Stan had said. He wanted to not just conduct experiments on him, but eat him. Suddenly, Kyle was alone.

Very, very alone. Alone, with no one to run to and no one to cry to. His parents were gone, his brother, gone. Alone. No more school. No more friends. No more homework. No more life. But this couldn't be happening. He had an AP exam tomorrow. He couldn't- he couldn't be here! He had to live, he had a life to lead!

The door opened with another hissing noise. Stan stepped into the large room, carrying a tray of foreign, disgusting smelling food. It jiggled as he walked. Stan neared his side and knelt down next to him, patting his head and ignoring his tears. Kyle stared out into space (a horrible, horrible pun, in his situation), and ignored him back.

"Eat." Stan commanded, setting down the tray. He picked up something that looked like a fork but with curved tips, twisting around some of the green stringy concoction that he had brought with him. He offered it to Kyle, smiling, but Kyle refused. Stan was very patient.

"You must eat."

"Why." Kyle looked up at him, fearful. Stan was an alien. An alien. And he planned on eating him. Terror bit at his heart.

"You not get fat you not eat. Eat lots, good for you. Too skinny Earth boy. We go my home planet, you eat lots more." Stan persisted, thrusting his hand forward again for him to take a bite.

"I don't want any." He moaned, curling up away from Stan. He felt a hand on his waist and Stan moved him back onto his back.

"You no choice, you eat. Much good food is, you see."

When Kyle refused for a third time, Stan merely 'humphed' and grabbed his chin, prying his mouth open. Kyle's eyes widened as Stan stuffed the stuff down his throat. It was repulsive. It tasted like rotten milk and eggs. It was slimy, like eating a banana peel soaked in Vaseline. He gagged at the taste, and sat straight up, moaning as he clawed at his tongue. Stan watched him, fascinated as he ate a bit of it himself.

But just as the night before, Kyle felt something go off in his brain. The food triggered something within him that yearned for more, and suddenly, it tasted delicious. He lunged at it, although part of his brain told him still to not give in. Stan smiled at him, and offered him more of it on the fork-like object. Kyle opted for grabbing the bowl instead, and slurping it down.

The food suddenly tasted magnificent, like nothing he had ever tasted, and he hadn't. It was alien. And, it was probably designed for him to grow addicted to it instantly. However, in that moment, he didn't care, and gulped it down in huge proportions. Stan eyed him hungrily, licking his lips.

As Kyle continued to eat, Stan crawled next to him, sitting by his side. He pushed back on Kyle's shoulders and he laid down obediently. As he continued to eat, Stan leaned down and pressed his mouth to his stomach, swirling his tongue along his skin. He could feel the food enter Kyle's body, and could almost feel him digest it, making him crave for the taste of Kyle's body.

Hiccupping, Kyle looked down and set the bowl aside, watching as Stan mouthed at his skin with closed eyes. He bit down on him, taking his skin into his mouth and grinding it against his teeth, but not truly biting. Kyle felt horribly ill.

He thrashed without warning, kicking Stan in the jaw. Stan fell back with an 'oomph', and rubbed his cheek.

"Don't-" Kyle was at a loss for words, and he stumbled over his vocabulary, searching for the right thing. "Please- I don't-"

Stan was silent and continued to watch him, blue eyes cold, with a blank expression on his face. He said nothing, and didn't move. Kyle watched as his fingers began to fuse together and a tentacle resulted because of it, worming around a bit before settling.

"I want to go home."

The third step of grief. Bargaining.

For a while it seemed as though Stan weighed this out in his mind. He closed his eyes, and breathed lightly. "No."

"Please, I- I'll do whatever you want. I don't understand what's happening. I don't want to be here." He choked up, trying to gain composure, but failing. He was crying far too much, but he couldn't help it. Perhaps he wasn't as manly as he should be, but there was no one left to judge him. "I don't understand. I'm scared. I don't want you to touch me. I-I don't want to stay in this room, I want to go back home. I'll give you anything. Money, do you want money? J-Just- please. Please."

Stan looked at him as though he was insane. "No. I no let you go, mine now. You happy here, anyway. I make you happy. Lots of food, lots of sleep. What human need you not get? Something I not give you, make you sad?"

"Home." Kyle whispered. "I want to go home."

"Silly." Stan moved to lay next to him, grabbing him by his neck and pulling him closer. Kyle choked, scared of Stan's physical strength, but he let go quickly once his face was in reach. Dangerous. He was dangerous.

Stan smiled before leaning his face in close to Kyle's. He held the back of his hand with the newly formed tentacle, and sucked on his cheek, gnawing on his skin every so often. But Kyle didn't know what to do. What was there to do? There was no where he could run, and Stan had proven time and time again that he was much stronger then he was. Reality hadn't truly hit yet; the reality of where he was and who he was with. All he knew was that he was terrified, and he wanted to go home, badly.

The fourth stage. Depression.

Kyle felt numb as Stan spoke in his alien language, the lights that had illuminated his room flickering off. He cried as Stan pulled him next to him, licking his shoulder. The material around them moved, and he jerked subconsciously closer to Stan, who sucked on his cheek again in response, making him sob harder. In front of them, Kyle stared out into space, shuddering at the feeling of Stan's tentacles opening up to taste him as well. Kyle wanted to be sick. Instead, the food digesting in his stomach kicked into full gear, and he fell asleep as Stan feasted upon his skin.

Step five would never come.

Give me a giggly review if you want to eat Stan's giggly food.