He sighed and signaled his con-com into stasis.

  Drey wandered around the living room. There was nothing there to help him understand Tris, as it wasn’t Tristol’s space. He wondered if it’d be okay to simply ask the galoi some of his many questions. Would his bright lavender boy consider monogamy, or was there some biological or emotional or cultural need for multiple lovers?

  In this case, however, it might hurt to ask. Because what if the answer was yes? Then Drey would know forever that the most perfect creature he’d ever met couldn’t be his to keep, only to share.

  Drey didn’t like sharing lovers.

  He might consider it, though, for Tris.

  Then he got mad at himself for even harboring the idea. He’d tried open relationships and polyamory in the past. It had hurt and ended badly.

  So would it be better to ask and to know?

  He picked up a funny carved animal from one of the living room shelves, turned it over in his hands.

  Better not to know. Then he could cherish Tristol as a fantasy. Or was that fantasy too close to self-torture?

  Drey sighed and made another circuit of the room.

  He wished dispatch would call him in.

  Except that would be a betrayal of Tris, who had asked him with such earnest hope if he would wait.

  Drey sat back down and glared at the cat.

  The cat slept on.

  It seemed like ages, but eventually Tris returned.

  His hair was flat, which worried Drey immediately. He jumped up. “What’s wrong, honey?” Whoops.

  Tris came over to him and his hair fluffed, reaching for him.

  Drey loved that. He took it as a complement.

  Tristol’s smile was hopeful and he stopped slightly too close to Drey by human standards. “Honey? Like honeymoon? Is that an endearment? Did you use an endearment? For me? And you waited. Thank you for waiting! But I have wondered, what does the excrement of an insect have to do with romantic relations? Not that I am not flattered.”

  “Excrement of an…” Drey tried to hide a smile. “Oh! Honey is a sweet-tasting syrup. It was once a popular condiment on Hu-Core. Highly valued. You know humans like the flavor of sweet things? Some even crave it.”

  Tristol tilted his head toward Drey, inquisitive expression, eager hair. He placed a tentative hand on Drey’s arm again. This seemed to be a communicative gesture. “Would… you…” Tristol paused, uncertain. “Would you sit with me?”

  Drey sighed and gave up a little. It couldn’t be too dangerous just to sit together, could it?

  They sat next to each other on the small sofa. Tristol shifted toward him so they were in contact from shoulder to hip to leg. The galoi was cool, definitely cooler than human. A strand of his hair slid over, wrapped itself lovingly around Drey’s neck. Like a silken scarf brushing sensually against him. Not grasping, yet not tentative, almost reassuring.

  Drey tried not to like it.

  Tristol’s hair looked like lavender sunlight made solid. He wanted to touch and stroke but wasn’t sure if that was allowed.

  “Does it bother you?” Tris asked. “My hair? I can control it, if it bothers you.”

  There was such a wealth of yearning in the galoi’s tone. Drey’s own voice deepened in response. “No, it’s comforting.”

  Tristol glowed as if he’d been praised. “And the endearment?”

  Drey chuckled. “To be called anything sweet by a human, in general, is a compliment. It just slipped out. I meant no insult.”

  “None taken! You may call me honey whenever you wish. Although it is not the right color for me, is it?”

  “True. Honey is not purple.”

  Tris blinked at him. “I am lavender!”

  Drey tried to hide a smile, “Lavender is a type of purple.”

  “I know that. I memorized all the shades. But lavender is more accurate and it is a superior word.” The alien seemed very set on this point. “Is there a sweet human treat that is lavender colored?”

  “Not one commonly used as an endearment. Taro root perhaps. Or grape candy.”

  Tristol shook his head. “Those words are too harsh. I prefer honey.”

  Drey said, despite himself, “Grape candy is my favorite.”

  “You like sweet things?”

  “I do. Do the galoi use endearments?”

  Tris shook his head. “Not really. Not words that mean other words. Elle calls her Olav husband as a term of affection. Come here, husband, she will say. We might do something like that.”

  Drey felt out of his depth and tentative and desperate. “Perhaps not exactly what I mean to ask. Husband is more permanent, it has social and legal implications. My question was more... Please, never feel you must answer my questions, if speaking of such things is rude, or taboo, or makes you uncomfortable.”

  The hair didn’t stop its soft caresses.

  “Oh, detective. I do not mind with you. I should like you to understand me better. I may be zyga but I was raised galoi. As I have only recently learned, adapting is not so easy on either side. May I ask you questions also that may be rude or intrusive? And you could extend me the same courtesy of silence rather than offense?”

  Drey winced but nodded. This was dangerous territory, but it was also a chance at insight. “Do you have the concept of husband then?”

  Tristol’s hair stilled a moment, then resumed caressing. “We have something similar to your concept of spouse, but there is no gendered term like husband or wife. Our idea of spousal contracts seems similar to yours. It is a lover or lovers with whom you choose to stay. Galoi interpret spouse as the *home*color*foundation* of your soul. A mate of the heart rather than the body, although often also as well as the body.” His big eyes managed to look sultry.

  He’s such a flirt. Still the words gave Drey hope. “Marriage?” Drey couldn’t stop the swell of yearning. “Exclusive marriage?”

  “Sometimes, yes. We call the union itself mycota. But it translates well enough to the human idea of marriage. A galoi mycota can be two or more individuals. But for us it is never of the same gender, never more than four, and never for the purposes of procreation.”

  Drey blinked. There was so much to unpack there. Did Tristol, for example, think of him, Drey, as the same gender and thus taboo for marriage? But more startlingly, “Galoi don’t have children?”

  Tris gave one of his melodic trills of amusement and his hair shook. “Of course we have younglings! But not within a mycota. That is what gamein is for.”

  Drey puffed out his lips. “Okay?”

  Tris seemed game and kept explaining. “Gamein is a breeding union between two individuals for the purposes of procreation only, and therefore only exists between antiga and loga.”

  “And who takes care of the resulting, uh, results?”

  “Offspring are given into care of isoga who rear them as an age group. I think you might call this a creche?”

  “You don’t raise your own children?”

  “We do not.”

  “Have you had children, Tris?”

  Tristol’s hair instantly flattened. This, apparently, was not a safe question.

  Drey hastily backpedaled. “Forget I asked. Let’s go back to sex?”

  “Yes please!” The hair resumed petting. Tris seemed to feel this was an opening to ask his own question. “If I give you the right answers, would you perhaps, consider sex with me? You are interested in male genitalia?”

  Drey smiled. “I’m gay, yes.”

  “And you find me appealing?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “No. But thank you for the compliment. Until today, I would have said a certain detective was immune to my charms.”

  “That would be a total lie.” Drey couldn’t have him think such a thing. “Did your hair just wiggle?”

  Tris dipped his head, eyes lowered. “Yes. I find you very attractive, Detective Drey Hastion.” He gave another little trill at the end of the sentence, almost sub-vocal. Perhaps those non-word noises were a kind of galoi endearment.

  Drey responded with, “It’s mutual.”

  He took his courage in hand, then, and asked the question he most feared, hoping he was phrasing things properly. “Those who don’t have a spouse, like you, what do you call the people you sleep with? You’ve lovers, I’ve seen it.” Drey winced at the memory. “Is there a name for that?”

  “It would be a direct translation, I suspect. Lovers works well enough.”

  Drey tried again. “And are all galoi looking for a spouse? Or, um, spouses?”

  Tristol looked thoughtful. “Not all. Of course, people’s preferences vary widely. Most galoi look for two others, some yearn for all possible. I have only ever wished for an antiga. Now, of course, that is not possible for me.”

  Drey could feel his shoulders sag. So there was his answer. Tris liked, or needed, to play the field.

  Tris shifted as if sensing his disappointment. “I have injured you with my words. What did I say that was wrong? I assure you lack of antiga is no great hardship, if your concern is there. Human males have, mostly, once I learned the correct terms for what I require sexually, proven to be excellent lovers. You are not entirely the same genital configuration as an antiga, of course, but you are good at fucking! I mean humans must be, there are so many of you.”

  Drey couldn’t help his chuckle at that. “True that.”

  “Then what did I say that made you sad?”

  “I suppose I meant to ask, without the possibility of an antiga, whether your preference is for many lovers.” Drey tried not to hold his breath, waiting for the inevitable crushing disappointment.

  Tristol’s hair wilted and he said something Drey would never have expected. “None of them have wanted me to *stay*home*future*keep*.” Tris ran his terms together sometimes when he couldn’t find the right word in galactic standard, as if he thought all of them together must be more precise or that the union of the words changed their overall meaning.

  Bullshit. Who wouldn’t want such a man for more than one night? Humans could be remarkably stupid, Drey wasn’t the first to say that, but they weren’t that stupid.

  He frowned, thinking about the dynamics of gay clubs and one-night stands. “Did you ask for a second date?”

  Tris looked up, startled. “I could do that?”

  “Of course.”

  Tris brightened considerably. “If we had sex, you and I, would you like a second date? May I ask you now or is that rude? You did wait here for me. You offered up your time, which does me great honor. You continue to give it to me now, so generously, as if you were a loga yourself. I…”

  He trailed off. “I am doing this wrong again. We may not be compatible. I should at least ask that first. Shouldn’t I? Or is that also wrong? Have I been doing it all badly and backward? Have I offended my lovers by not asking? Have I been inconsiderate? Was I supposed to keep them?”

  Drey could only blink in surprise as the galoi wound himself up into a panic. He tried to interrupt but Tristol kept talking.

  “Were they emotionally hurt? Was I wrong not to ask? We loga, we are always asked. Because we are those who caretake, who give and paint the nest, so it is assumed we would like to be kept and thus it is the other partner’s responsibility to make the request. If unasked, the loga assumes they are free to try another.”

  Drey frowned. “Okay there, calm down. You’ve done nothing wrong. One-night stands are common among humans. It’s considered normal to experiment, and try out a prospective partner sexually. Then you ask for more. If you wish to sleep together again or if you wish to date. Dating means more companionship than just sex. Sometimes it implies that there is the possibility of a spousal contract. But dating doesn’t necessarily guarantee that. Communication of preferences and intent is important. Does that make sense?”

  Tristol let out a breath. “I think so.”

  “But you were waiting to be asked, because you’re loga?” Drey had a sudden horrible feeling that all the gay men he’d seen leaving with Tristol over the months had been taking advantage of the young man.

  Tris nodded. “Yes, exactly. Although I did not want to stay with them. I should still have liked to be asked.”

  “They treated you well? They did nothing to hurt you emotionally or physically?” Had this lovely creature been inadvertently abused?

  Tris squeezed the hand he’d rested on Drey’s arm, warm and reassuring and carefully placed above the cat scratches. “Oh, no! It was fun. Not very flattering that they did not want me more or again or for any length of time, but now I see that is not a flaw in me. I thought maybe, to you humans, I was – how do you put it? Bad in bed.”

  Drey bristled. “In the clubs, afterward, did any of them flirt with you again?”

  Tristol nodded. “Yes. And I always thought it very odd. I mean if they did not like me, why try again? I thought perhaps it was a kind of compliment, to help me, you know, so others would not know I had been found wanting.”

  Drey almost felt like crying. Poor baby!

  Tris continued. “But had they asked to keep me I would have said no, anyway.”

  Which brought them right back to the source of all Drey’s worry. “What do you want then, in the end?”

  Tris looked at him like he was insane. “I want you to keep me, of course.”

  THE 4th CHAPTER

  Five-gender foreplay

  Tris thought he should be very clear to prevent further confusion on the part of this lovely human. So he added, “That is, assuming we are compatible in the manner of gay humans.”

  Drey managed to look both flattered, and horrified, and embarrassed, and delighted, all at the same time. It was very pretty on him.

  Drey had also stopped talking and had his mouth open slightly.

  Tris felt perhaps this meant it was his turn to ask questions. Luckily, he had learned some of this part of *human*male*gay* interaction. The part that was all about articulating sexual preference.

  This negotiation was customarily done during the initial stage of *human*club*courtship*. It included ritualized dancing and plumage displays, like face paint and shirt slogans. But Tris had never danced with Drey. Drey only came to the clubs to watch and to drink with friends. It occurred to Tris to worry, for the first time, that they may not be physically compatible.

  This was a concern that must be dealt with immediately.

  “I am a bottom!” Tristol blurted out. His hair almost spiked up due to the riot of emotions flowing through him.

  Drey stroked his hair, gently. Humans never realized what an intimate act that was. Yet with Drey, Tris loved it. Drey’s massive warm hands threading through his agitated locks were both arousing and comforting.

  “Okay, Tris. That’s fine.” Drey’s eyes looked *happy*friendly*sexy*. Perhaps he was considering calling Tristol honey again?

  “You are a top, right?”

  Drey smiled. “I’m versatile, but I like topping very much and if that’s your preference…”

  Tris decided to get very serious, only partly aware that he had climbed into the big human’s lap so he might take that lovely bearded face into his hands and focus Drey’s full attention on his own earnestness.

  “Loga do not climax without penetration. Male loga are what humans would call bottoms but it is by biological necessity as well as choice. Female loga are the same.”

  “But you have a cock?” Drey was clearly confused.

  Tristol’s penis had been hard and seeping since they sat down on the couch together. Now that he had this human in his arms and under him, it was only becoming more so. Tris demonstrated its existence by grinding against the detective’s flat stomach.

  “Yes, I am male.” Tristol did not bother to explain that the term male only applied to his external organs and overall appearance, because in the past this had upset his human lovers. It did not matter. A human could never drive him into estrus and get him pregnant. Drey need not know he had all the necessary equipment to conceive young. That was, after all, his burden and his sacrifice. The reason for his exile, refusal of gamein, a loga’s greatest sin.

  Drey had said he was versatile so Tristol added, hastily, “I would be happy to try to penetrate you, but I am unable to achieve orgasm that way.”

  Drey only kept smiling.

  Tris relaxed. “That is good?”

  “You only get off if I fuck you into the mattress? Yeah, that’s good. That’s great. Wanna try?” Drey arched up under him.

  Tris was both pleased and surprised by the size of the penis pressing against his wiggling ass.

  He squeaked. “Here? I do not think that is proper. And Mister Montiguous might see! Or be disturbed.”

  “So come back with me to my quarters. And if you’ll maybe think about me keeping you, or you keeping me, I don’t care which, I’ll show you what a good top I can be.”

  Tris could not suppress his little trill of pleasure at that idea. This was perhaps the best thing ever. A human male was considering him, Tristol Zyga, as a somate. Or as close as humans got. A human was entertaining the possibility of a future together. And not just any human, but his *human*male*favorite*wishwishwish*, whom Tris had thought aloof or at least disinterested. Apparently, all Tris had ever needed to do was state his wish to be kept. That he would be fine with just one spouse for as long as such a thing lasted among humans. With Drey!

  “Now?” he said hopefully.

  Drey chuckled. “Yes. Now. Although I think we’re both on con-com reserve.”

  Tristol got serious and nodded.

  Drey’s big warm hands began to stroke over his back. As Tris had been instructed to stroke Mister Montiguous. He liked it so much. He understood the appeal now. He wondered if he too should purr. But he was not isoga, so he did not really have the sub-vocal range.

  “I’ll not ask you why, Tris, because I’m sure it’s a need-to-know basis.”

  Tris was pleased that Drey respected the delicacy of his job, but he did say, “I do hope you never need to know.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21