Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Virgin Eyes and Ears
Zef
While Bryce was gone, he sent pictures and videos of him assisting sheep giving birth, and while Zef found it fascinating, it was also rather… invasive.
[Zef] Must you insert your arm inside the sheep? It seems unnecessary.
[Bryce] I only do it when I need to. Sometimes the lambs aren’t in the right position, and I have to help.
It must be scarring for the mother. Your arm is very large!
I give her medicine so she doesn’t go into shock.
Perhaps she requires more medicine because she looked very shocked when your entire arm disappeared inside her vaginal canal.
Okay, now you’re making me sound like a creep or something. I’m not molesting the sheep, Zef. I’m helping.
Sounds like something a sheep molester would say.
… You’re spending too much time with Gem.
Three days before Bryce would be traveling home, Zef sent him a selfie of the vines tangled in their hair.
I forgot my hat.
Oh no, do you have anyone to come save you?
Tad is here.
A knight in webbed armor.
No, she is wearing a bodysuit.
In response, Bryce sent three laughing emojis.
On Saturday, Zef offered to meet Bryce at the station, but he assured them it was not necessary. So they cleaned the house and prepped dinner—the pot pie Zef had learned from Nan, which had since become Bryce’s favorite—and anxiously awaited his arrival.
They were eager to see him, they realized, having missed his presence in the condo. Which was nice, in a way. To know that their friendship with Bryce had strengthened enough that they missed him when he was away.
When Bryce walked through the door late in the afternoon, Zef sprang to their feet and rushed to him, wings humming happily.
“Bryce, you are home. Hello. It is good to see you. Are you well? How were your travels? Here, let me—” They nearly wrestled his backpack out his hands as they ushered the bewildered man inside.
“I was expecting you earlier, but your train must have been delayed. Expectable, of course. Purgatory is not known for their timeliness.” Wide-eyed, Bryce gaped at them, and they smiled, almost shyly. “Hello.”
“Hi, Zef,” he said with a crooked grin. “It’s good to see you.”
“You as well. I am happy you are back. I have found several documentaries for us to watch about the human ocean, the Hellian civil rights movement, and one about the riveting history of postage stamps! Not that we must watch them now as I am sure you are tired from your flight. But I did not want to watch without you, so I compiled a list.”
They opened their notes app and held their phone out for Bryce to see. The human blinked. Then his grin widened, breaking over his face into something warm and fond.
“I missed you too,” he said, and Zef’s chest pulsed.
Clicking uncomfortably in the back of their throat, they tucked their phone away and mumbled, “Well, that is rather dramatic.”
With a laugh, Bryce took his bag back and headed toward his room. “Let me get unpacked and shower the plane germs off me. Then we’ll catch up, okay?”
“Are you hungry? I can prepare the pot pie.”
Bryce’s face lit up. “You made me pot pie? Heck, I should leave more often if I get this kind of treatment when I come back.”
“Do not exaggerate. I was in the mood for pot pie. That is all,” they sniffed, making the human laugh.
“Sure,” he said as he headed down the hallway.
While Bryce showered, Zef put the pot pie into the oven to bake and set the table. They made themself a mug of their new favorite tea, an herby concoction Bryce had gifted them for Christmas, and put on a true crime podcast Tad had recommended.
“Uh, Zef?” Bryce called from the bathroom. “I didn’t realize I was out of soap. You have any more bars in your bathroom?”
“Of course. I shall fetch you one,” they called back, hurrying to their bathroom to retrieve a freshly made bar from under their sink. They had scented this batch with citrus peel and green tea, knowing Bryce appreciated both, and were eager to know his feedback.
Outside Bryce’s bathroom, Zef knocked loud enough to be heard over the spray of the shower. The door opened halfway, revealing a very wet Bryce with a towel fastened around his waist. His brown hair stuck to his forehead as water droplets wriggled down his neck and through his matted chest hair.
His large, soft belly was covered in the same thick fur, and Zef cocked their head, inspecting the thick trail curling down from his navel and disappearing beneath the towel.
They had seen his bare torso when he had donned his traditional Christmas outfit, but there was something different about witnessing him like this. Wet and, for all intents and purposes, naked. The sight made the skin on the back of Zef’s neck prickle strangely.
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Bryce said, taking the bar of soap from Zef’s grasp. The tips of his fingers touched theirs, and they jolted at the moist heat of them. “Crap, I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”
“It is alright,” they said hurriedly.
“No, it ain’t. I didn’t mean to touch you, Zef. I—”
“Bryce.”
They reached out a lower hand and carefully, carefully rested the tips of their three fingers on the back of Bryce’s knuckles. There was dark hair here too, between the round, jutting bones, and they liked the texture of it.
“It is alright,” they repeated, never severing eye contact.
Bryce’s lips parted on a quiet gasp as Zef added the slightest pressure until nearly the full pads of their fingers pressed to his hot skin. That prickling on the back of their neck turned into a more insistent tingle, and their antennas wriggled in curiosity.
This was new.
This was different.
“Thanks for the soap,” Bryce said weakly.
“You are most welcome,” they replied, noting the shakiness to their own breath.
They stood unmoving for another long moment before they stepped back, withdrawing their hand. Their fingers flexed on their own accord in an attempt to dispel the sudden and unexplainable pins-and-needle sensation. For his part, Bryce was frozen, lips still parted, breathing heavy.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” Zef said, and he nodded, wetting his lips with his tongue.
“Okay. Thanks. For the… soap.”
“You already said that.”
A beautiful shade of red trickled down his neck like the shower water, painting the top of his chest. “Right.” He swallowed once. Twice. Then he gestured vaguely behind him. “I should… you know… the shower.”
“Yes,” they said.
He nodded again. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Bye,” Bryce said as he shut the door between them with a quiet click.
“Bye.”
Feeling almost floaty, Zef returned to the kitchen, staring down at their hand. Their fingers flexed again, but the tingles were still there. Even the small, fine hairs on their arms were standing on end.
They lifted their arms and squinted at the raised hair follicles. What in the deities was happening?
Perhaps the internet would know. Google had, after all, never let them down before.
In their room, they shut the door firmly—barely resisting locking it—and turned on their desktop.
Their fingers drummed on the desk as the electronics whirred to life, the screen lighting up a few seconds later.
Opening their browser, they typed in, What does it mean when you touch your roommate’s hand and it makes you feel weird?
The search results were less than helpful, insinuating that Bryce was a narcissist who used touch as a weapon. Since they were confident that this was not true, they tried a few variations of the question.
Why does my hand tingle after touching my roommate?
According to the internet, Zef had carpal tunnel, paresthesia, or a vitamin B12 deficiency. Which was, honestly, worrisome. They should really book an appointment with their GP for a yearly check-up.
They tried again.
What does it mean when my hair stands on end and I get goosebumps around my roommate?
This resulted in slightly more helpful information. Fight-or-flight response, triggered by fear, excitement, or awe. They did not feel afraid or particularly excited or awed. The webpage said it could also be an intense emotional response.
“Well, that is a bit of an overreaction,” they chided the computer.
The computer did not reply.
Finally, they searched: Why do I feel tingly when I see my roommate wet from the shower?
To their horror, this resulted in numerous pop-ups for pornography.
“Oh my,” they said as their screen filled with a Succubus in a school-girl outfit clutching her breasts as she bounced on an Incubus’s member. “What are you—you should go back to class, young lady!”
They tried to exit out of the pop-ups, but instead of closing down the video, it took them to the website itself with even more thumbnails playing, showing skin and genitals and fluids. So many fluids.
“No, go away,” they cried as they struggled to navigate through the porn to exit the website. “I do not consent to this!”
“Oh, Daddy, I’ve been naughty.” A human girl pouted as a Daemon smacked her in the cheek with his spiked shaft.
“Sweet ancestors, help me,” Zef begged, clicking blindly to close the many pop-up videos.
A gray-and-red Araknis in a blond wig and a milkmaid outfit beckoned their co-star, dressed in a black and white cow costume, forward with a come-hither smile.
“My eyes,” Zef whined. “My virgin eyes!”
A large Bovyn fisted an enormous penis and leered down at a small, human man. “I’m gonna get that mouth pregnant.”
“No, not my virgin ears too!” they wailed in despair.
“Zef, you okay in there?” Bryce called from outside their bedroom, and they spun away from the horrors unfolding on their computer.
“Bryce, you must save me,” they shrieked, and Bryce made an alarmed noise as he burst through the door.
His eyes fell to the desktop where a dominatrix was whipping a weeping Dryad. “What in tarnation?”
“The internet betrayed me,” Zef defended, their upper hands clamping over their ears. “Help me, Bryce. Make it stop!”
Determination set Bryce’s shoulders, and he cracked his neck. “Out of the way. I’m going in.”