Chapter 7 – Decaying Orbit #2
He trilled in amusement. "They are known to be alluring," he said.
"But no. Charm can also be platonic, and of course some people feel no romantic or sexual impulses, at least among our kind.
Actually, for a time I thought –" Araxis stopped, abrupt.
His hands, which had been resting on the floor – one hand particularly close to mine, so I'd been thinking about touching it for the last five minutes – drew into his lap.
"What did you think?" I asked, curious. He did that sometimes: shut down mid-sentence, as if he couldn't possibly speak the words that came next. I could practically see the mazes his thoughts were running through.
He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and there was always some sort of struggle lurking behind his eyes. He wanted to talk to me, but he knew, from his own family's history, that words could be dangerous to say aloud.
I wanted him to know he could talk to me. After all, I wouldn't be around much longer to tell anyone anything. I'd take his secrets with me to the grave that was looking more inevitable by the day.
"I have lived the bulk of my life on this ship," he said finally.
His long white fingers fiddled with the edge of his shirt, where the hem was coming loose.
I suspected I'd find him fixing it later; I'd already seen him working on a tear in one of Egnax's jumpsuits in the dining room while the engineer had complained loudly in his general direction.
"Here, with my creche-mates. Trips to stations for supplies have been…
infrequent, and always for clear purposes and with scheduled exits.
But I have met other abaya, and I felt nothing.
I thought perhaps I could feel nothing. There is nothing wrong with that.
Vivith has no romantic or sexual inclinations, and they are very fulfilled with raising the children. Their work as cinelaat is enough."
I watched Araxis carefully, and he was deliberately not looking at me, but waiting – as if expecting me to say something.
"So you thought you might be like Vivith. And now?"
"Hm." His fingers still rolled the hem of his shirt, thoughtless. "I know that's not the case."
I fought hard to smother the smile fighting to break free. Because I was pretty sure what he was saying, in his oblique way, was that he was hot for me and it was a surprise. Although –
"Does that mean you haven't fucked anyone? Oh, shit – sorry, that's definitely a rude question." Heat flooded my face as Araxis stared at me, eyes impossibly wide.
"I –"
"No, you don't need to tell me," I insisted, hands raised, and then I scrambled to my feet.
Did I want to know if he was a virgin? I knew it was a concept that didn't translate to all species, and even in my own culture, it was admittedly dumb.
It wasn't like fucking somehow changed you as a person; I didn't even think people had souls that could be stained or whatever, like I'd been taught that on Seraphim.
But I'd read enough about abaya that I was pretty sure virginity was a bit of a big deal for them, and so I wasn't sure if I wanted to know.
Because I was also pretty sure we were going to fuck, in some way anyway, and I knew I was hurtling toward some inglorious end, and the last thing I wanted to do was hurt Araxis by taking him for a tumble and then getting obliterated on galactic broadcast.
(I had decided by then that if my choices were victory, death in the arena, or throwing myself out an airlock, I wanted to go in the arena. Seraphim would know I chose that over going back to them, and maybe that would provoke a little self-awareness, or at least make the fuckers uncomfortable.)
Araxis stood as well, flushed. A soft whine loosed from his throat, and his features were creased with hurt. "I – Is that bad, Sashen? Does that make me… Do you…" And he trailed off, looking away.
I could guess how that questions might have ended. Does that make me undesirable? Do you not want me now?
Because he must have also known that we were careening toward one another.
I hated seeing the hurt on his features, hearing the keening under his words. And I knew what it felt like to feel shame like that, for something so – unnecessary. "Do you mind that I've fucked a lot of people? I mean, a lot, Araxis."
His eyes flashed with some unnamed emotion. "Of course not. You are virra. Or… something like that." He was still so careful with ascribing abayan gender to me, although I'd basically admitted that his assessment – and the kids' – was right on.
"Sex isn't a big deal for me," I said. "Either having it or not having it. Don't get me wrong, when it's done right, it's a lot of fun, but it's also just… not that important or special."
The skin between Araxis's eyes crinkled, thoughtful. "Is that true?" he asked. "I have read that it can be revelatory."
I fought hard against a laugh, knowing it would be condescending and hurtful and would make me feel like I was a thousand years old. "I can count on one hand the number of times I've had sex that could be described as anything more than nice. But maybe the common factor is me."
He continued to watch me, head tilting. "Was this all sex you were paid for?"
And wasn't that a depressing thought. Alet Trident's den wasn't a whorehouse in the way we'd been warned about on Seraphim: no one forced me to do anything I didn't want to do, but I was certainly compensated for my time and skill.
And while I was usually at least… slightly attracted to the clients I took on, they were clients.
My arms folded across my chest as I skimmed through my memory.
Had they all paid me? I had a couple I'd seen a few times, and maybe one or two of those were just for fun.
I'd fooled around with some of fellow employees on occasion, but that was more or less to pass the time and take the edge off, and it had still felt a bit like work.
Taking my silence as answer enough, Araxis shifted a step closer.
"Do you think it might be different if you chose just because of how you felt?
You have told me that autonomy is important to you.
You want freedom to make choices for yourself without others imposing their will on you.
Do you not think choosing a sexual partner might therefore affect the experience? "
I didn't like this conversation, and I didn't like how quickly the balance of power had shifted. A moment ago, I'd been holding all the cards; I knew everything about fucking, and Araxis knew nothing. And now –
"I've got to shower," I said, plucking at the front of my sweat-drenched shirt.
I was certainly not avoiding this conversation or fleeing from Araxis's questions, and when I left the training room at something close to a jog, it wasn't because I was desperately trying to avoid thinking about the quiet and intense way he had presented his case or how clear it was that he had listened to what I'd told him and used it to form an understanding of who I was, what motivated me, what mattered to me – and how those things might affect me.
Had I ever been seen like that before? The thought made me feel like all of my skin was ill-fitting, tight and sensitive.
So I couldn't just fuck him against the wall in the training room, no matter how often I'd thought about it over the past week.
I couldn't let myself, even after I jerked off that night wondering about what it would be like to fuck him just because I wanted to.
If I could be revelatory for him. The sounds he might make, the rumbling in his chest and throat, how his body would open up for me and how we'd fit together.
All I knew was I couldn't just – take him like I'd been half-dreaming of.
He had something else in mind anyway.
I was still having trouble sleeping. As the days passed by and the Tournament drew closer, as my time on Creche Thiel's ship dwindled hour by hour, I found that whenever I closed my eyes to try and sleep, I was overcome by what felt suspiciously like panic.
Time was slipping away from me, and the scope of what I was about to do – be on galactic television; die for broadcast; become space dust – was like the weight of a black hole crushing my chest whenever I stopped to think about it for more than a second.
Thinking about my own life was a bad idea, so I had fully embraced thinking about someone else's instead.
I knew I had been an utter dick to Araxis earlier that day, when he'd told me he hadn't fucked anyone before and then asked me all those incisive and insightful questions. He'd been vulnerable and asked me to do the same and I had run away instead.
What was I doing? I had six days left on the ship, and then it was over. There weren't any do-overs here. This was it.
The least I could do was be decent. So, fully aware that I was edging perilously closer to dangerous territory, I tapped on my wristband, which cast a soft orange glow over the dark room, and I called up Araxis's contact information. Are you awake? I wrote.
A moment later, his reply flashed up. Yes. Are you bothered by bad memories again?
No, I wrote. Just awake.
There was a long moment when my display just blinked, a throbbing light in the dark. His move. Then, Would you like tea?
I crept out of my room and met Araxis in the dim hall.
This time, I was wearing one of my sweaters – the striped one that he'd described as loud – and I saw him clock it.
His nose wrinkled, amused, and he reached out to pinch one uneven cuff between his fingers.
"Ah, you have worn my favourite sweater," he murmured, and I flushed in the dark, because I had, and I'd done it on purpose.