Strange Love

by Ann Aguirre

  “It feels good?” she asked.

  “Strange, but yes.” His responses were terse, but not because he seemed unhappy.

  Beryl guessed that his people didn’t talk much during sex, even if it was a long, intense affair. She tightened her thighs and contained the impulse to stick her hand down her pants. On a logical stretch, touching him, then herself with the same hand, might constitute an exchange of genetic material, and she didn’t intend to give the officials any reason to disqualify them. Plus, that maneuver was probably too advanced for her first try.

  “Okay.” She heard the breathy, slightly embarrassing note in her own voice, but it was too late to care about that. “I’m going to touch you…more intimately now. Still good?”

  “Please,” he said, and it was both permission and a plea.

  His sex organs were arranged near enough that she could penetrate all four simultaneously with two fingers on top and her thumbs below. That might not be enough pressure in the lower pouches, but she’d give it her best shot. Part of her couldn’t believe she was doing this. I’m about to fingerbang an alien. But even thinking about it that way didn’t diminish her excitement.

  Beryl thrust fingers and thumbs in simultaneously, and his whole body jerked. She recalled him saying something about hooks and anchoring; while she didn’t have that capability, she’d bet her hands were more agile and should be able to provide a different sort of pleasure, if alien nerves worked the same way. Slowly, she started to push, giving him a taste of friction and gentle pressure. It felt…strange, but not wrong, and she loved his smell, intensifying the more she stroked inside him.

  “Tell me how it feels best,” she said softly.

  As she shifted her fingers, he hissed, and she took that to mean she’d found a good spot. She focused there, detecting a slight difference in tissues. This was a little bumpy, possibly where he stored his spermatophores. Softly massaging there made his neck ruff quiver, and then he was hissing nonstop, unable to give a reply in words.

  The more she stroked him, the more pronounced those bumps grew, swelling beneath her touch. This has to be right. It’s working, I’m getting him off. She couldn’t quite reach properly with her thumbs until she leaned in and pressed deeper, then she focused on catching up in the lower pouches until the bulges felt about the same. She could hear Zylar breathing, frantic and rasping, likely a measure of his mounting excitement. Her hands and wrists were getting tired, and God, she hoped it didn’t take all day, or however long a span was.

  Slowly, she increased the pressure, trusting him to tell her if it was too much or if she was hurting him. He gave no sign of that, just jerking and hissing in response to her intimate strokes. Then she pushed hard, with fingers and thumbs, and his body went rigid. She felt the internal bursts, all at once, then more fluid on her hands, and the swellings within the four pouches dissipated. His entire body eased.

  Holy shit, I did it. I made him come.

  She gave a few soft strokes and pulled her wet fingers out. “How do you feel?”

  “As if I would happily die for you. I have never experienced such exquisite bliss.”

  “I’m so glad,” she said.

  His adorable honesty made her smile. She got up and went to the hygiene square to clean her hands, then she came right back, conscious of the powerful ache between her legs. If she didn’t get some action soon, she’d hump her own hand. Beryl noticed that his chitin had slipped back into place, now that he was satisfied.

  Too bad I’m not.

  “You’re still aroused,” he said, not a question, an observation.

  “Desperately.”

  “How can I assist?”

  His phrasing surprised a laugh out of her, but she didn’t think she had the patience to try and teach him what to do. Since he had those talons, it might be slow and dangerous, and right then she just wanted to come. Like Zylar, she couldn’t stand any more foreplay.

  “Do you mind if I use you?”

  “…use me?” He repeated the phrase, seeming puzzled, but he added, “Please do. If there is some way I can give you pleasure—”

  Before he could even finish the sentence, she straddled his hard lower limb. She’d guessed it would feel incredible, and with her body weight at the right angle, it was so, so good. Beryl was already wet and ready; she just needed permission to ride. Now she had it, and she swiveled her hips furiously, alternating up and down and back and forth. As a kid, she used to masturbate on a pillow or a blanket, and at her horniest, she’d done it on the arms of couches, even with the edge of a table once.

  This felt even better, because he was alive, and touching her lightly with his claws, first on her head, then her back, whispery scratches that sensitized her skin and peaked her nipples. At this rate, it won’t take long. She moved faster and pulled his touch to her breasts. “Gentle,” she managed to say. “Like when you’re playing with my hair.”

  When he scraped her nipple with a claw, she ground down hard and came, moaning and shivering. Her body went lax, so she fell against the hardness of his chitin. Zylar caught her against him, and she didn’t even mind that he couldn’t really feel her body. He was strong enough to hold her in place with one arm, and she closed her eyes, imagining that she could hear his heartbeat.

  “Did you attain completion?” he asked.

  She snorted a sleepy laugh. That was so on point with the human equivalent of Did you come? that a wave of amusement rolled through her, gentle and warm. Some things were standard among sentient beings, she figured.

  “I did. And it was incredible,” she added, just in case he followed the new-lover playbook and was about to ask Was it good for you?

  “That…happens very fast for your people.” There was a sort of wonder in the statement.

  “It can, with the right partner.”

  “You’re praising me? But I did nothing of worth. I merely—”

  “You’re underestimating yourself again,” she cut in gently. “It was quick because I was very excited and because I’m with you.”

  [ 12 ]

  The two rest days passed too swiftly for Zylar’s liking.

  Spending time with Beryl and Snaps…it was idyllic, more enjoyable than he could have envisioned. They walked in the garden, and he showed them more of Kith B’alak’s holdings. She also made additional personal coverings from the fabric she’d salvaged.

  Snaps took pleasure in the simplest of outings, and Beryl had a matchless way of filling Zylar with brightness, as if he had lived in darkness until she arrived, and he realized this was how the world should have looked all along. He didn’t press for more sexual contact, but sometimes it was impossible not to recall how beautifully she had touched him, playing his body like an instrument. Since he had never mated with a Barathi partner, he had nothing to compare the experience to, but it was difficult for him to conceive that it could feel any better, even if the act enabled reproduction.

  Sometimes he shamed himself with silent curiosity about the way her body was made. She had seen all of his secrets, while he’d learned only a few of hers. Today wasn’t the right time, however, to focus on such matters. He needed to concentrate as he entered round two of the Choosing. Both his hearts took on a panicked tempo as he tried not to fixate on the fact that this was his fifth and final opportunity to win a nest-guardian and receive approval on his match.

  Zylar had never done well in this phase. Even if his intended got to this stage, which wasn’t always the case, they had always, always been lured away by someone else. He must have shown some sign of his grim thoughts or made a sound of distress because suddenly, Beryl was in front of him, holding Snaps close.

  “Hey, it will be okay. Just focus on the competition. And…if we don’t get approval at the end, I’ll go work in that space station daycare you mentioned before.”

  He stared at her, unable to believe the translator was relaying her words correctly. “You would rather leave Barath than Choose another?”

  “Damn
straight. I have no emotional investment in anyone else. I’m betting everything on you, Zylar.”

  “Emotional investment?” Silently he wondered if this was meant as a declaration of devotion, but he didn’t know how to confirm the theory.

  “Well, yeah. We’ve spent time together, talked, gotten to know each other, and it’s been intense for a relatively short time. I think it’s safe to say that we’ve started…what did you call it? An out-bond.”

  “I treasure you,” he said, hoping it conveyed the immensity of his regard.

  “Likewise. Now get out there and flaunt your colors. For the record, I happen to like brown. A lot.”

  Zylar glanced down at his dull pattern and something shifted inside him, an inexpressible lightening, as if a burden he didn’t realize he was carrying suddenly dislodged. “Are you saying that you find me attractive?”

  “Not at first,” she admitted. “But that’s because of differences in our anatomical design. Now? Of course I do. Really, the only thing you lack is confidence, and we’ll work on it.”

  “I will bring you honor,” he said then.

  “Thanks. If you get nervous, look for me. I’ll flash you this sign…” She held up two clawless digits. “It means ‘victory.’ Good luck!”

  For a few seconds, he watched as she shielded Snaps, hurrying toward the part of the spectators’ seating reserved for aspiring nest-guardians. Then he joined the rest of the Barathi filing down into the arena, tense with expectation over what would be asked of them. In the past, the competition had been gentler than what would-be nest-guardians faced, as he would be expected to nurture hatched offspring more than protect the unhatched ones.

  The holding area behind the scenes was already teeming with aspiring Chosen, and he knew none of them by name. They were all younger, fresh and hopeful, and it made him conscious of all his prior failures. With effort, he stopped those thoughts, remembering the way Beryl had complimented him. She would rather leave this world than pair with anyone else. I will not let her down.

  “Zylar of Kith B’alak?”

  He turned in response to the diffident inquiry to find a slight Barathi male with lovely, albeit muted colors in varying shades of green. Though all his hues were from the same base, giving him common status, they still made for an alluring pattern. Zylar predicted that this one would do well if he could pass the second round and retain his intended’s interest.

  “Yes, what do you require?” It was embarrassing to be so suspicious, but Ryzven could be underhanded. If this was one of his minions—

  “I am Arleb… Kurr is my intended. Your Beryl proposed a partnership to them, and that was vital to our progress. You also invited Kurr to spend time in Kith B’alak’s private garden, and that gave them much joy. I have come to offer my appreciation.”

  “Beryl has benefited greatly from the alliance as well, but your gratitude is noted. You’re from Kith I’stak?”

  “Not a prestigious line,” Arleb said, abashed. “That is why I was unsure whether I should approach, in case you took offense.”

  Suddenly Zylar realized that from an external perspective, his personality might read the same as Ryzven’s, and that, he could not tolerate. “Perhaps we should learn from our Terrible Ones and consider an alliance as well.”

  Arleb’s nictitating membrane flickered in surprise. “I don’t know what benefit I could bring to you, but in the spirit of cooperation, I am willing.”

  Just then, the host began announcing their event, and handlers shoved them toward the entrance to the arena. He followed the rest of the throng, hating the fact that so many eyes would be fixed on him, and they would gossip about his past failures. If Zylar knew his nest-mate, Ryzven would fuel the hateful talk with malicious whispers of his own, and while that didn’t matter in round two, it could become a problem in the final phase, should the rumors gain traction with Choosing officials. The special clearance for Snaps might become an issue, and he could well imagine that Ryzven would retaliate for the indignity Snaps had inflicted. He tried not to let these worries show, as the host continued his commentary.

  “What a contest! As we begin the second stage in the Choosing, we have fifty would-be Chosen, competing for the favor of only forty nest-guardians…”

  Unable to help himself, he sought Beryl in the spectator’s section and found her in the front, sitting with Kurr. As soon as she realized he was staring at her, she gave the sign she had said indicated victory. His heartbeats settled. She believes in me. I will not disappoint her.

  “First, I will introduce our Chosen. When your name is called, step forward and show us who you are.”

  This part was similar to the way the Terrible Ones began the competition, but the events afterward would be quite different. Normally, he would be full of choking dread, worrying over his choice for the first impression, but this time, Zylar had no doubts. Before, he didn’t think he could perform well enough, due to his inadequate hues. Beryl would see beauty in the movements; she wouldn’t judge what he lacked, only admire what he offered her.

  Therefore, when the host called, “Zylar of Kith B’alak,” he stepped forward boldly.

  “For whom do you declare?” the host asked.

  “Beryl Bowman of Aerth.”

  Zylar fixed his gaze on her and performed the courtship dance—for her and her alone. With each motion, he spoke of his intentions and his desire, using neck ruff and defensive spines to compensate for his dull colors. While it was not a perfect rendition, it was tailored for the two of them, and she must see that. When he stilled, the arena was quiet, and then Beryl led the response by emitting her sonic shriek, startling a few intended nearby. Yet the audience caught her excitement, and soon they were all cheering. Zylar didn’t need to look at Ryzven to know that his nest-mate would be furious.

  “A bold move,” Arleb said softly, as he stepped back in formation. “And not the strictest interpretation of the dance, but you surely captivated your Terrible One. She never looked away from you, not once.”

  Pride filled him in an unstoppable wave, especially since someone else had noticed her loyalty. Beryl was such an enviable intended…he savored the sensation briefly, then finally let himself steal a look at Ryzven as the introductions went on. He was seated with the officiants, and he directed a poisonous glance at Zylar, then continued whatever he was saying.

  For once, though, he didn’t let his nest-mate intimidate him. For Beryl, he would factor how to overcome this obstacle as well.

  Zylar intended to let nothing stop him from earning the right to be her partner, out-bonded for life.

  Cradling Snaps, Beryl watched the activity in the arena, trying to figure out exactly what was happening. Finally, she whispered to Kurr, “Can you give me a quick overview?”

  “This is a test of problem-solving and of comprehensive knowledge,” they answered. “You see those containers? Within each one is a prize, and written on each object is a riddle, hinting at the contents within. But the runes are written in various languages, some ancient or defunct. The better educated a Chosen candidate is, the better they will do in this challenge.”

  “Does speed matter?” Beryl asked.

  Kurr’s fronds rustled, maybe in approval. “Yes, the Chosen will be timed. There are three goals in this competition: to read and decipher the riddles, to choose their box wisely, and to open it swiftly. The scores will be tabulated accordingly.”

  “So if they can’t read the riddle and they get a crappy result with the prize inside, they’d lose points even if they open the puzzle box really fast?”

  “That is correct. Rankings will be determined by comprehension, worth, and speed.”

  “Oh wow.” She hadn’t asked Zylar about his higher education background, and since they were using tech to communicate, she had no idea how good he was with languages.

  “What’s Zylar doing?” Snaps demanded.

  Beryl explained to the dog in the simplest terms as the Chosen raced around the field, pausing at
various containers, various geometric shapes, colors, and materials. All of them were etched with characters Beryl couldn’t read; if she’d been forced to compete in an event like this, she would’ve been screwed, unless Kurr had a good background in reading alien tongues.

  “What’s in the box? Can I eat it? Will Zylar let me eat it?”

  Figured, that was what a dog would take from a competition like this. She smiled, keeping her eyes on Zylar as he hurried around the arena, seeming to choose his target with care. Others were already committed to their puzzle boxes, but he took his time, finally selecting one on the far side. She wished she had some binoculars, but from this distance she couldn’t tell much about the container he’d chosen. It was small and shone with a coppery glimmer, and she could see scratches on the side, but otherwise, that was it.

  “Any insight into Zylar’s pick?” she asked Kurr.

  “The characters are etched in ancient Tiralan. I don’t read it myself, so I’m not sure.”

  But Kurr wasn’t really paying attention to Zylar anyway; Beryl followed her friend’s attention and saw that they were focused on a green-shaded Barathi working nearby. “Is that your Chosen?”

  “Yes. We did not receive approval in our first attempt.”

  “Do you have any idea why?” The idea of being blocked in the last round for nebulous reasons bothered Beryl.

  If you busted your ass in the Choosing, that should be enough. But no, there were still factors beyond their control involved, and assholes like Ryzven probably had their hands in the pot, stirring behind the scenes. Even however million light years from Earth, politics and nepotism were still a thing.

  As if her cranky thoughts had drawn the asshole’s attention, Beryl glanced over to find Ryzven sitting with the judges, staring hard in her direction. She quickly cut her gaze away, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his interest. I remember losers like this in school. Their first year in community college, Beryl’s friend Kelly, had dated a classic BMOC, and Scott thought the sun rose and set with him. Yet the minute Kelly’s back was turned, the jerk was all over Beryl like butter on bread. Ryzven radiated that same frat-bro vibe.