The 5th Gender, page 10
part #1 of Tinkered Stars Series
Tris could feel the trill beginning in his throat. Drey’s hand was so large and warm and it felt very exciting. “Yes, but I know humans have a longer refractory period. So do antiga and male isoga. My capacity to recharge is quick.” He gestured to his own hard penis which, when Drey squeezed gently, began producing cum again. The tiny orgasm shivered through Tris at the tightened grip. He released the trill he had been holding in.
“I love your noises,” rumbled Drey.
“I am more like a female human in the matter of climax. Or so I have been told.”
Drey grinned. “Multiple orgasms?”
Tris nodded and moaned as Drey began to tease him with long strokes. Gentle, thank heavens. One major difference between all galoi males – antiga, isoga, or loga – and humans was penis sensitivity. One could be almost rough with a human. A few of Tristol’s human lovers had required a very firm grip. That had shocked him. Of course, Tristol’s ass was delighted with this fact, as it meant Drey could pound into him without the possibility of self-harm. Or so Tris hoped.
“I need to be penetrated to come, though, remember.”
Drey kept stroking him. “I will never forget that now, baby. But I would like to just tease you. Can I play with your body for a while until I’m ready to fuck you again?”
“Oh dear.” Tristol was not certain he could take that. “Is that likely to take you a long time?”
“Oh yes.” Drey’s pleased rumble was back. He moved from under Tristol and arranged Tris so he was lying sprawled atop various pillows and Drey was looming over him with glittering merciless brown eyes.
“You aren’t sore?” Drey asked, so thoughtful and careful with him.
“No, my penis is fine, but it might get sore if you play with it too long.”
“Your cock is very sensitive, huh? But no, I was asking about your ass.”
Tristol’s hair shook in amusement. “No, lovely human, that part of me is unlikely to get sore. Your penis is not sore from thrusting into me so hard?”
It was Drey’s turn to laugh. “Not even slightly, although it could get there if we do it too much. But I’d love to find out where the pain point is.”
“Oh, me too!” Tris decided to lie back and let Drey do as he wished. The big human was now running his hands over Tristol’s legs in long smooth strokes.
Then Drey leaned forward to gently lick Tristol’s penis. It wept appreciatively and Tris trilled in delight.
“Oh!” Drey breathed hot over Tristol’s sensitive genitals in surprise. “You taste like burnt caramel.”
“That is a good thing?”
“Oh yes. But I’m sorry to admit that mine will not taste so sweet.”
Tris did not bother to correct him. He knew what human males tasted like and he enjoyed it very much. It reminded him of a shellfish delicacy from home that was highly prized and very expensive.
But he was happy to know that he tasted good to Drey. After all, only Drey’s opinion really mattered. And Drey was obviously enjoying himself.
“Save some for later,” said Tris.
Drey chuckled and licked him again – warm and smooth and wet and certain. And mine.
Tris felt worshiped and cared for. So he prepared to learn all about this new kind of human teasing, no matter how frustrating.
THE 7th CHAPTER
But we don’t even have a word for it
Drey supposed it was a good sign that the galoi ship wanted to move quickly. It was always better not to let a crime scene get cold. Yet he was reluctant to leave Tristol’s warm nest.
They’d fucked again, eventually, after he teased Tris mercilessly for over an hour – learning all his erogenous zones and all his flavors. The curve of Tristol’s lower back, the full length of his hair, the edges of his ears, all turned out to be wonderfully sensitive.
Of course, he woke in the middle of the night hours to find Tristol paying him back.
The galoi was exploring him, applying teeth and nails, being rougher with him because he’d already learned that Drey liked a bit of sharpness with his pleasure.
Drey had ended up fucking Tris again, because he couldn’t help wanting to see him come utterly apart, because a man who produced his own lube was a galactic wonder, because Tristol’s lavender hair danced while Tris rode Drey’s cock and trilled out his joy. Nothing had ever been more beautiful. Nothing.
Which meant that when they were summoned to go aboard the galoi ship, negotiations having finally concluded, they were fuck-drunk and sleep-deprived, and sore in absolutely the best possible way.
They cleansed together and then Drey had to go back to his quarters to change. It turned out Tristol used his bedroom for clothing storage. His pretty pastel suits hung in a row on a solitary rack in the corner. His shoes were lined up against the wall next to it. That was all. Drey thought they might turn that room into an office when he moved in and then was amazed with himself for even thinking it. Fuck-drunk, indeed.
So they separated briefly and Drey ran back to his own quarters, lonely barren-walled and entirely lacking in sunsets.
His earpiece chirruped at him, directing him to the designated dock where he was to meet an alien spaceship and find a murderer.
It was possible that Tris was more nervous than Drey, when they met up outside the docking bay. After all, Tristol was the only one who knew what they were actually in for.
Professor Frills, Adjudicator Jones, and Ambassador Quinn were there as well.
“We aren’t coming inside, I promise,” said the adjudicator, before Tris could even open his mouth to make certain they abided by the rules of the trade.
The galoi had negotiated in a hard clause for no recording devices. His people weren’t idiots.
Still, Professor Frills was there with a list of instructions for Drey. “Pay attention to galoi interpersonal interactions and culture. I’ll want to completely debrief you, as soon as you are back aboard station.”
Drey glared at the human. “I’m not sure how useful I’ll be. This isn’t my training and I’m going there to look for clues in a murder, not to be your culture spy.”
Tris was delighted to realize that his somate did not like Frills either.
They entered the docking bay together, Drey slightly in front, Tris shadowing him. He thought that would be the best positioning, as that way no galoi would walk into him.
Sometimes galoi took zyga a little too literally.
The spaceship was new and shiny and modern. Tris had been on a galoi spaceship only once, when it took him and dumped him on an alien world for the first time. When it set him free.
It was pretty – most things the galoi made were pretty. Sleek and silvered and curved, designed for atmosphere even though it lived in space. Galoi never saved money or time at the expense of appearance. Impression was everything. How a ship looked spoke to how important it was, where it fit in the social hierarchy of other ships. This one was highly ranked.
Tris had almost forgotten that jolt of certain identity bred out of perfect aesthetics. Too long he’d been living among humans, where they believed, or pretended to believe, that practical was morally superior to pretty.
“It’s beautiful.” Drey’s dark eyes were wide in awe.
“How a thing looks reflects its importance in life.”
“Oh, am I dressed well enough?”
Tris was pleased to hear Drey worry about such a thing. “You look very well, severe and alien, and dark and foreboding. The dark gray marries well to your skin tones and you will set yourself apart while not appearing too much in contrast. It was a good choice.”
“I’m in uniform, baby. I hardly had a choice.”
“I know, but I like to pretend you put a great deal of forethought into such things.”
Drey paused to look Tris up and down. “You did, I take it?”
“Yes. Only some will even bother to see me. Most will note the naked ear and I will not exist for them. But still, I am making a statement by wearing black. Galoi never wear black. It clashes. I am being intentionally ugly.” Tris felt a little stiffness in his hair over his choice, but he needed them to know. His suit said many things to any galoi who cared to look. I do not care. Your opinion no longer matters. I have embraced a new life. I am ugly and I am nothing but I am free.
Tris was wearing one of his standard adorable close-cut suits, only it was black. Drey had never seen the man in anything but pastels before. He hadn’t thought Tris liked dark colors.
Tris looked amazing in black. His lavender skin glowed against the velvet fabric. Also, Drey couldn’t deny hundreds of years of conditioning that caused him to see black as formal, elegant, and dignified.
“You look gorgeous,” he told his lover. Awed.
“I do? Oh, you actually mean that! I forget, humans admire contrast.” His hair, which had been still and flat (with nerves, Drey suspected) puffed up a little at the compliment.
The gangplank to the galoi ship was down. Drey wondered if the galoi crew had explored the empty docking bay at all. How weird did the human space station seem to them? Or did galoi restrict their people’s access to alien environments, as much as they restricted human access to them?
Drey took a breath and stepped onto the ramp.
Tristol was reassuringly close behind him.
The air emanating out of the open hatch was odd-smelling, almost earthy or mossy.
They topped the ramp and rounded the corner. There, hidden from any eyes or cameras below, stood a galoi Drey assumed must be the captain. The ship’s hallway arched up and curved around so the man was only just visible, above and away from them. A power play, that they must keep walking toward him, looking up as if he were some ancient priestly king.
The man looked taller than Tris, but not by much, and had the same slenderness of frame and light musculature. He was severe and angular, without Tristol’s appealing softness or cheerful demeanor. His skin was darker, too, still purple, but a deep violet color. He wore a navy robe, short, over matched wide-legged trousers. It complemented his skin tone and Drey realized he was already trained to think a little like Tris, that he noticed such a thing.
Tris plastered up against his side as they walked, slowing them both down. The contact jolted Drey with desire, but seemed more a vehicle for Tris to rise on tippy-toes and whisper in Drey’s ear.
The galoi stared at Drey as he approached, examining him carefully from head to toe as if searching for clues.
Tris spoke fast and low. “This is the captain, antiga. He has four rings so he favors all genders. The two studs in his right ear indicate that he has two spouses, bonded somates, silver for female loga and copper for female isoga. They will be with him on this spaceship. Galoi do not separate spousal groups. Since he is also the captain and allowed off planet, we can assume that both he and his loga have contributed gamein.”
“Remind me what that means?” whispered Drey back. They were almost close enough for the captain to hear.
Never once did the antiga look at Tristol – his gaze registered only Drey.
“Obligatory progeny. Three young each, to increase the population. So he will be proud, arrogant, perhaps a bit self-righteous.”
“His hair is uncovered.”
“Yes, so watch it.”
The captain’s hair was almost exactly the same color as his skin. It was shorter than Tristol’s and perfectly still. Controlled.
Drey and Tris stopped in front of him, not too close. Obeying the distance required for inter-species negotiations by galactic law.
Silence reigned. Tris had warned Drey that he could not address the captain first.
A larger galoi appeared up the hallway and strode fast to stand next to the captain and a little in front of him. She had breasts so Drey went with female. She had to be at least half a head taller than the captain, and had way more muscle mass. She was nowhere near as big as Drey, but very physically fit. She had the balanced stance of readiness, and the sharp eyes of caution. Her clothing was tight to her body and no doubt stretchy, so she could move easily. This one was trained to fight. Drey knew power when it resided in muscle memory. She was also magenta-colored.
Still no one spoke so Drey tilted his ear toward Tris. “Who’s his friend?”
Tris gave him the rundown fast and hurried and hissed. “*Galoi*isoga*female*somate-to-antiga*somate-to-loga female*. See how she has black and silver studs in one ear? Her spouses are a female loga and an antiga. That matches to the captain but does not necessarily link them. She could be his spouse or perhaps the first mate of this ship or head of its security. I will need to hear them converse in galoi to know the nuances of their relationship. There is a good chance they will not talk to each other in our presence, for that exact reason. She will not be introduced to you.”
“Her earrings are the same as her ear studs.”
“Yes.”
“But not the captain’s?”
“One does not always get to marry all of one’s sexual preferences.”
Drey considered his various bisexual and pansexual friends and the relationships they’d settled into. He supposed that was true in humans too.
Although this conversation took place directly in front of them, and both galoi could no doubt hear and understand, they did not acknowledge it.
Drey looked the captain over, giving him the same insulting perusal. This galoi was no fighter, and he seemed calm enough for a man with a murderer aboard.
Their eyes met. The antiga’s were a vibrant eggplant color. Finally, he spoke. “You are Detective Hastion?” His galactic standard was extremely good. Almost as good as Tristol’s.
“I am.”
“I did not know humans came in such a pretty color profile.”
“You must not have met many of us. I didn’t know galoi came in such a dark purple.”
“I am antiga.”
Tristol whispered, “Darker pigmentation is considered a particularly attractive trait in the first gender.”
The galoi captain made no further comment. His eyes continued to not see Tris. The guard’s, however, did. They rested on the lavender man lightly and dismissively, but intently. She was evaluating all threats, even the ones that supposedly didn’t exist.
The captain seemed to recollect himself. “Anisoi Ureeya. I will show you to your work.”
No niceties here. No polite greeting needed.
The hallway was empty as Drey followed the captain and his isoga guard toward what he assumed was the crime scene.
Tris stuck close but seemed to have nothing more to say. Drey would have to ask about whatever he found confusing. To Tristol everything around them was normal. For the moment, Drey decided to simply absorb the strangeness of the alien spaceship and stay silent.
It was remarkably beautiful. The outside of the ship had appeared almost like a coiled seashell. The inside was similarly iridescent and organic. The wall, and there was only one, on the outer side, was mirrored, but misty and soft, made of some silvery material. The ceiling above was all silver pipes with beautiful flowering purple vines coiled around them. The flowers were tubular and hung downward, a very pale lilac with spots and speckles of darker purples. They gave off no flowery perfume, but Drey could guess they were responsible for the general vegetative smell that permeated the ship. No doubt they were heavy oxygen producers. The inner side of the hallway had no wall but simply circled what Drey assumed was the massive central engine of the spaceship. This too was beautiful, gleaming and mechanical, and incorporating organic components. He was no engineer to understand any of it, but he had certainly never seen anything like it before – a gorgeous functional sculpture, meant to be in a museum but instead running a spaceship.
They walked in silence – antiga, isoga, Drey, and Tris – through the hallway which seemed to now be coiling downward. They eventually branched off into a much narrower hall, with all the expected walls, and barely big enough for two to walk abreast. Each side was lined with oval doors which Drey assumed meant they were in a residence warren. He wondered how many faces were pressed to the view-scopes in those doors, looking at him. Staring at the alien. The first human ever allowed on a galoi ship. That’s assuming they had view-scopes.
There was a sound to the hallway here, a faint chiming, like glass beads in a wooden tube. A different plant grew around the ceiling pipes. This one was pale green with thousands of small white flowers in sprays that dangled in large globules above them. They moved in a slight breeze.
“What’s that noise?” asked Drey.
Anisoi Ureeya didn’t answer him.
Tris did. “The flowers above us are singing as they generate airflow. They are called alysigoss, which is something like *plant*breeze*sing*breathe*.”
Drey nodded and decided it was time to stop being awed and get to work. “Captain Ureeya, what can you tell me about the victim?”
Tristol’s cool breath was against his ear again, and his slim form pressed against his side. Drey wanted to stop and gather him into a hug. He wanted to ward off the strangeness of this alien place with his alien boyfriend, as if that made any sense.
“You must call him Anisoi Ureeya. The identifier honorific is more important than his job title.”
“So anisoi is like mister?”
“More. It means *antiga*bonded*completed-gamein*productive* member of society. It is a placement in the order of life.”
“As zyga is a displacement?”
Cool lips met Drey’s neck at that, a kiss for his understanding. “Yes.”
The captain stopped in front of one of the doors and turned to stare at Drey. He seemed suddenly to both see and not see Tristol. He also, apparently, felt no compunction about acknowledging that he heard Drey’s side of the conversations.
“You will not use that word, human detective.”
“Zyga? Very well, Anisoi. This is the crime scene?”
“That is your term for it.” The captain waved his hand before the door and it telescoped open.
