Az
My brain still feels like it is made up of clouds twelve hours after Lois kissed me.
She. Kissed. Me.
Xavianns do not kiss. It’s not that we, as a people, have never done it, but more that since mate bonding is not so much a thing now, and all the coupling is done through contracts, both parties seem to approach each other in a more formal, ‘let’s get this over with so we can procreate’ kind of level.
I’ve kissed Permissions before, sure. Just to see what it was like. But that was all in a simulator where my partner’s every move was dictated by my own brainwaves. So they don’t really count.
This… this was my first ever kiss as far as I’m concerned. And it was way better than anything I’ve ever experienced.
Lois had brushed it off as soon as our lips had parted – told me to forget it ever happened.
As if that’s even possible?!
After struggling in my arms, I’d finally put her down on her little human feet, and she proceeded to tell me that she’d just got caught up in the excitement of the drak flight.
I’d promptly asked if she wanted to get back in the saddle for another one.
She laughed and gave me a smile that made my stomach flip.
“Master Az, exactly how many horn caps are you planning on wearing at the Capital?” Gordina, the old Xaviann female who has been my personal maid for pretty much all of my life, chides as she looks over the bag I’m packing.
“The last I looked, you only had four horns. You’ve emptied half your cap collection in here,” she says, fussing.
“She kissed me last night,” I tell her wistfully… again.
Gordina peers at me over the rim of her seeing-glasses. Those five words are the only thing I’ve been saying to her the whole morning. “This ‘kissing’ business makes you grow more horns, does it?” she chides, sorting through my caps to find my best sets.
There’s a joke in there somewhere about kissing making something else grow as hard as a horn. But I know from experience that Gordina is not afraid to throw an expensive vase directly at my head if I irritate her enough.
And trust me, I have irritated her plenty over the years – practically turned it into a sport when going through my adolescence.
She loves me in her own way, though – I can tell by the sly smile she gives me when all I can do is stand there grinning like a geliklik.
“And where do you think this kissing of mouths is going to get you, hm?”
“To kissing other parts of her, hopefully-”
I duck just in time to feel one of my dress shoes fly beside my head. “I ought to tell your brother and Aunt what you are up to at night with that vulnerable human, Az.”
“Firstly,” I say, standing back up to my full height, my arms outstretched in case she decides to launch anything else at me, “why don’t you ask Kiahn what he was up to with his human out on their balcony last night.
Secondly…” I glance around the room, looking for inspiration.
“Y-yeah… please don’t tell Aunt Zalora.”
Gordina points the heel of my own dress shoe directly at me. “The number of times I have withheld incriminating information from your Aunt would get me fired, Master Az, and well, you know it.”
She is not wrong.
“And what Prince Kiahn does with his permanent bride is up to him! Now, go fetch your dress shirts. Your father will no doubt be hosting dinners and whatnot that the two of you shall attend.”
She carries on neatly folding my things and tucking them away in various pieces of my luggage.
When I return, I have a handful of my dress shirts in various colors.
Gordina takes a moment to look at them before she pulls out more of the black ones than the white.
“Females like to fantasize that their males are dangerous and brooding. The black will do nicely for that. And this one-” she says, pulling it out and showing me the delicate embroidery around the cuffs and collar, “Has gold thread. I noted that Lady Lois favored gold over silver for her own accessories.”
I stand there, grinning down at the old female.
“Don’t look at me like that. I think you’ve got wyzzie-nuts for brains with how you act around this human, but I may as well help you since no one else will.”
“Thank you, Gordina,” I say, wrapping her in an embrace.
She stiffens at first. We are employer and employee, after all, and she is still a female and I a male.
Touch is not usual between us. But she has felt like another mother figure in my life for the longest time.
Gordina relaxes after a beat or two, but not without a huff of breath that morphs into a chuckle before slapping me on the chest. “You better get my grandson some decent tickets for the drakball finals!”
I pull back. “Consider it already done.”
She smiles, her eyes looking glassy as they crinkle at the corners. “Good. Now, go fetch your scent oils. Females go gah-gah for a male that smells nice.”