Chapter 10 – Reverie
The next few days were among the best of my life, until in a sudden, cataclysmic crash, they weren't. But the fantasy I got to live inside of, even for such a brief respite, was everything.
I woke the next morning to Araxis reluctantly sliding from bed, the early morning lights slowly brightening in his room.
I managed to talk him around to taking a shower with me before he started reviewing the starcharts he needed to plot the day's course.
He'd seemed perplexed by the idea, until I had him naked and wet and proceeded to eat him out while steam beaded droplets onto our skin.
He was a quick study, and had me up off my knees and pinned against the wall the moment he came.
He rutted himself against my thigh, pretty pink cock glistening in the damp while his hand worked resolutely at my length until we came, panting, together, his mouth hot on the sensitive skin of my neck.
I laughed as he pushed himself off my shoulder, chest heaving, our stomachs tacky and sticking together. "Well, I'm glad we did that in here."
He trilled, and then cleaned himself with careful precision as his spent dick retreated back into the depths of his body. "And I am glad Egnax and I made repairs last month to the water recycler so that it is up to the task of dealing with our aftermath."
Araxis watched me as I scrubbed down again, and then made a thoughtful noise. At my questioning look, he raised one shoulder in his version of a shrug. "I was merely thinking about how cute your cock is like that."
I nearly choked on my own spit. "What?"
He gestured at my soft member. "It is quite delicate and vulnerable.
Your body provides no protection." Then, with a crooked smile, "I am very fond of it.
" And like that, he flounced off to get dressed for the rest of the day, and I tried not to think too hard about how it felt to have my dick described as vulnerable.
"So how likely is it that everyone's going to know we're fucking?" I asked as I pulled on my pants. I didn't bother with the shirt: I was just going to head next door and put on something warmer and more comfortable.
Araxis was seated at the wooden desk, one graceful hand flicking at the screen there. Starcharts swirled lazily on the screen, a series of complex tables flaring to life in the upper corner. Plotting trajectories required a lot of math. "You can be quite certain. Does that bother you?"
"Come on," I said. "I got paid to fuck people, and I'm virra. They'll expect it from me. Does it bother you?"
"As you say, you are virra. They may only point out that I have wasted time by waiting so long.
" Araxis half-turned, looking at me in my state of partial undress.
His eyes were bright, his expression thoughtful.
"You have said there is nothing left to teach me about sword-dancing, Sashen.
I wonder – would you care to learn anything from me? "
"Like what?" I asked, bundling up the rest of my clothes to take next door.
"As sinnenthi, I have received a great deal of training in various forms of combat," he said. "I am quite good in hand-to-hand combat, and I am an excellent shot with a blast rifle."
I studied him. If he could show me anything that might help me in the arena, that would be huge – although of course he didn't know that was why I was headed to the Thenat cluster, and I didn't exactly want to explain it now.
I'd take any advantage I could get, even if that advantage was learning the very most fundamental basics of how to punch someone.
"That depends," I said, and I fluttered my eyelashes a little to give him a taste of his own medicine.
"How much touching do your lessons involve? "
He fluted out an amused breath, a smile sharpening his plush lips. "I have learned from the best. So – a great deal."
I laughed and felt a blossom of affection warm my chest, like drinking a cup of tea after being cold.
I closed the distance between us and took his head in both hands, pressing a firm kiss to his mouth; at once, his body melted against mine, his hands reaching for my hips and drawing me closer.
"You have to chart the course," I murmured against his lips, eager and pliant against mine.
He leaned forward and caught my lower lip in his teeth, gently; his fingers dug divots into the bare skin at my waist. "Yes, yes, I have many responsibilities. Am I not also responsible for assuring you enjoy your time on this ship, hm?"
I snorted and pulled away, before leaning in and kissing him again. And then I really did leave, and I pretended that I couldn't feel the weight of his stare on me as I left his room and headed one door over to my own.
I was walking on clouds, and that should have been impossible.
How was I able to feel so bright and lit up when I was staring down the gauntlet of my own awful fate?
But I also couldn't bring myself to taint what I was feeling with, you know, reality, so I decided to pretend that this little sojourn would never end.
I'd just live inside of these next few days forever, and I'd get to kiss Araxis and fuck him, and he'd hold me and murmur the sweetest words against my skin, and we could fall asleep together and fool around in the shower as much as we wanted.
God, I liked him. I knew it even then; it was like my internal organs were rearranging themselves in order to make room for him, like my entire body was remaking itself.
I didn't recognize what I was feeling; it was strange and invigorating and expansive.
I felt wonderfully, wonderfully alive. I didn't think I'd ever felt so alive.
I spent some time in my room, unpacking my bag after more than a week on the ship like I wasn't going to be repacking it soon, largely for something to do and because it was a nice way to continue to live inside this fantasy.
Sure, might as well settle in. Make myself at home, like Araxis had said.
I pulled out a sheet of paper from my journal and tried to remember how to make it into a crane.
If I'd been connected to the datasphere, I could have looked it up, but instead I gave up and smoothed it out as best I could.
I dug out the pink and black striped sweater and folded that carefully and precisely, tucking a little note inside of the collar, written on the crease-softened paper.
A trade is a trade. I hope this makes you think of me. From Sashen (who doesn't snore!)
I waffled a bit before adding a squiggled heart.
And then, realizing that it wouldn't translate, I scribbled down another line of text.
This is a stylized depiction of a human heart; our hearts don't look anything like this, so I don't know why this is the symbolic stand-in.
Hearts represent feelings for us, so this means 'affectionately' or something like that.
I slipped next door and set the sweater and note on Araxis's bed before I could change my mind.
He was gone already, his voice echoing down the hall from the helm, so I made my way downstairs.
I stopped in to grab my breakfast soup – as always, the second level was eerily silent and entirely empty – and poked around the kitchen stores a bit more while waiting for the water to boil.
Should I make something for Araxis? No, that was stupid. I didn't know how to cook. What would I give him, a couple packets of crackers and some of his own soup? Maybe I could learn one day, though.
But there wasn't going to be a one day, was there? I had… what, two weeks now before I was shoved on to the arena sands? Two weeks until some other competitor killed me violently and spectacularly on galactic broadcast.
Fuck. Fuck. The realization hit me with the cataclysmic force of a comet, and all at once, I was reeling.
I would never learn to cook. I'd never see anywhere else. This was it. I'd leave this ship and go on broadcast, and then I'd be done.
I didn't want to think about that. I couldn't think about that.
Instead, I grabbed every scrap of panic surging upwards in my body, all the acid-sharp adrenaline rushing through me, and I shoved it forcibly into that box that then went into the dark, awful corner of my soul that I never looked at.
It didn't do me any good to be upset about the real world now.
It didn't do anyone any good.
I forced myself to stand in the kitchen, drinking my soup – which tasted like nothing at all now, all my senses lost to the lingering aftereffects of that star-bright panic.
I focused on my breathing so that, when I left the dining room and headed downstairs, I didn't feel like I was going to hyperventilate and then vomit and then cry.
I helped myself to the practice blades this time, setting my own against the wall and throwing myself into a challenging combination of sequences.
This time, I worried less about making them pretty and a little more about what it would be like to do these at someone with the intention of hitting them.
How hard would I have to swing? How much force would I need to cut through skin and into bone?
What would it take to cut through bone? Most of the movements were sweeping arcs, graceful; could I use the swords to stab someone?
How did you get into a rib cage? Some species didn't even have them, and where were the vital organs on every Primus species?
Suddenly, my intimate knowledge of where to find genitals and erogenous zones seem pretty fucking useless.
Although I was pretty sure I'd at least startle any opponents if I cut their dick or ovipositor off.
I pulled the sequence up short, panting, and wheezed out a laugh. Even to my own ears, which were pounding with my heartbeat, it sounded desperate, unsteady.