By the time Navojan returned, Galen was almost finished with his meal.
He looked up to see Nav watching him closely, fingers tapping nervously on the table.
Galen asked, “Is everything all right? You seem a little jumpy today.”
Waving the question off, Nav shook his head at Galen’s empty plate and asked incredulously, “Do all humans eat this quickly? One of the few things your planet has managed to preserve is a plentiful supply of food. Yet all you do is scarf it down. How did your tribe discover any decent food at all?”
Galen almost spit out his coffee.
“My tribe?” he asked once he was done coughing. “Do you mean my country of origin?”
Nav looked fondly at Galen. “Actually, I was casting aspersions on your entire species. Can you even taste anything when you eat that fast?”
Galen raised his eyebrows and sipped more coffee, smiling despite himself. Nav’s English was almost flawless, save the occasional odd turn of phrase. He had learned English in the military and at first he’d delighted in discovering human stories. He tried to read the classics but insisted the characters were annoyingly self-indulgent. Eventually, he had become strangely fascinated with the stories of Isaac Asimov. Nav insisted that robots were far more interesting than humans. As a result, his grasp of social norms was a little flawed.
They sat in companionable silence as Nav enjoyed his meal. He’d been considerate enough to bring Galen a tray of pastries and Galen sighed happily at the aroma wafting from his plate. Who knew a laser could make such perfect croissants?
He dug in happily, trying and failing to keep his mind on brunch. His dreams had become more explicit as the week progressed and last night’s was particularly steamy.
Galen’s attention returned as he realized Nav was talking and he looked down to see almost all the pastries gone. At least Galen’s appetite had kept up with his fantasies.
“Did you enjoy the Sedaris book?” Galen asked, stealing a few fries from Nav’s plate.
Nav swiped his hand away, saying affectionately, “Get your own fries.”
Ignoring him, Galen took a bunch of fries and slathered ketchup on them.
Nav grunted irritably and they both laughed.
“So, the book,” Galen prompted. “What did you think?”
Nav finished chewing the fries and began to dress his burger.
“It was terrible. Possibly the most insipid thing I’ve ever read. It jumped from topic to topic, and those sidebars! Was she trying to be funny? Why would I even want to entertain in the first place? I hate parties.”
There was an awkward silence and Galen felt inexplicably shamed. He tried to push the feeling away.
Nav regarded him more gently.
“Did you really enjoy the book? It doesn’t seem like your style.”
Galen shoved some fries in his mouth, trying to stall for time, and finally said, “It annoyed the crap out of me. It was awful.”
Nav looked at him incredulously.
“Then why did you recommend it?!”
Galen hesitated, embarrassed, and said, “I couldn’t think of anything else you’d find funny. I thought sarcasm would work.”
Nav covered his hand reassuringly. “Was that sarcasm? It just seemed like she’d had a bit too much to drink.”
They both laughed and the tension was broken.
Feeling a little better, Galen continued, “It got good reviews and the CliffsNotes made it seem like it would be clever.”
“CliffsNotes,” Nav repeated. “Do you mean those summaries for grade-school students? Did you read those in medical school? Should I be concerned that you’re treating me from a child’s diagram of human anatomy?”
He paused, considered this, and added, “Well, I suppose that doesn’t matter, my physiology was hardly featured in Gray’s Anatomy.”
Galen tried to hide his chagrin. “It got rave reviews. And I did enjoy her brother’s books. Maybe we could try some of those.”
At the look on Nav’s face, he quickly amended, “All right, let’s do something different. No comedy. And no classics.”
He paused, wheels turning.
“Some light reading might be nice. Have you ever read any terran romance novels?”
Was that a flicker of suspicion in Nav’s eyes? His face was impassive, but his knees brushed lightly against Galen’s under the table. The soft touch sent a jolt right to his groin and Galen almost fell off his chair.
Navojan gave him a distressed look, and, running his hands through his hair, replied, “Seriously? It isn’t enough to read a romance? It has to be one about humans? I think there’s an Asimov story called “Liar” which demonstrates human fragility around love, infatuation, and ego-”
“I’ve read that and it’s depressing. A human romance.”
Nav sighed theatrically, with just the hint of a smile.
“I can only imagine the scenes of overwrought lovers. Even the characters in more weighty Earth novels are temperamental and self-indulgent.”
Galen’s smile slipped and genuine hurt showed through. “Do you really hate all of Earth culture?”
Nav met his eyes apologetically. “There's a handsome young doctor I'm rather fond of.”
Galen felt a little silly.
He promised earnestly, “I guarantee I can find a romance you’ll enjoy. Perhaps some historical fiction.”
Nav squeezed his hands together and gave Galen an exaggerated look of disbelief before breaking into a smile.
“I doubt that, but you’re welcome to try.”
The banter continued, Galen maintaining his part without much attention, his mind on the data rod in his pocket. He intended to read it the second he returned home.
Chapter Two
A few months earlier
Navojan didn’t often feel this restless. He had woken up uneasy and gone to work uneasy. Even now, as he walked to his residence after a long shift, his skin practically buzzed.
He took off his coat and settled in to putter around the kitchen, tidying the counters and removing some meat to defrost for tonight's dinner.
His job as an orderly allowed him access to subsidized housing. It wasn’t much – a bed, desk, bathroom and the usual ELI laser food generator – but it was affordable. The standard-issue ELI had a limited menu compared to the one in the cafe, or even the deluxe version at Galen’s spacious house, but Navojan had managed to snag an apartment with a kitchenette to supplement its meager offerings.
He fixed himself a cup of tea and settled on the couch to document the day’s events, though it was scarcely necessary these days. He’d long since transformed from an impartial observer to a established resident of the planet.
He hesitated, then replaced the journal without adding today’s entry, choosing a fragile, yellowed notebook to read instead. He flipped through it and smiled fondly at the entries of his first impressions of Earth: the landscapes, the hospital, the refugees, and especially the handsome young doctor who would eventually become his closest friend.
He could scarcely believe it had been seven years since volunteers had been sent from Milosia to live on primitive alien planets in neighboring sectors, including Earth. The idea had been that they would return with information and insights about alien culture.
Milosia was somewhat overpopulated, and critics claimed the government was simply putting out feelers to see how different planets and species would fare in an invasion. Nav could never bring himself to believe that.
In any case, it hardly mattered now. The government had either been replaced or had lost their interest in this planet. Whether from incompetence or paranoia, he’d been left behind. Stranded.
At that thought, looking at his old journals suddenly lost its appeal.
This week’s book was lying on the end table as if daring him to read it. One day he’d have the courage to tell Galen how much he hated Shakespeare. He’d reluctantly agreed to read The Tempest this week, and despite his best efforts, he’d
barely managed to get halfway through the play. He idly thumbed through the book before putting it aside for later.
He sprawled out on the soft couch and tried to relax. His apartment was full of small comforts. Soft blankets, a suede couch, fluffy pillows, and several throw rugs adorned the living room, but the hospital required the walls to be left bare and the wood floors untouched. The quiet, stark white lighting underscored the sterile environment.
It was almost a home.
It might be if there were someone to share it with.
It was a common thought these days, especially in the darkness of night. The pain sometimes left him gasping, alleviated only by the start of the day. His routine was a comfort.
He was lonely.
In the excitement about the mission, he’d vastly underestimated the impact of his solitude. It wasn’t just the isolation. After all, he had more social contact than he could handle at the hospital. It was the lack of intimacy.
Sometimes the longing for connection had been so intense that he'd wondered what it would be like to be found out. The military had described in great detail the torture that would result from discovery, and the idea was both terrifying and tantalizing. Images flooded his dreams, fantasies of torment from faceless doctors as they examined him with bright, harsh lights and cold instruments.
Well, now, that wasn’t quite true. Not faceless. The images appeared in vivid detail.
Galen ties him to a table, using instruments to gauge his reactions. He shivers at the cold metal on his back, the feeling of helplessness, and his body’s response to the variety of implements used to stimulate him in the most delicious places. He feels Galen’s fingers slowly push in and out of his ass, stretching and widening and pushing higher as if to explore its similarity to that of humans.
Navojan’s cock twitched pleasantly at the familiar reverie. It was one of his favorites.
There were many others.
Galen bends Nav over his knee like an errant child, pulls down his pants, and smacks his bottom. Softly at first. Just a gentle vibration. Then harder. Nav’s eyes brim with tears as he begs for it to end. Galen pushes him roughly to the ground, forcing him to his knees, demanding that he crawl across the room like an animal, humiliated and degraded.
He breathes in the delicious scent as Galen undresses and sticks that smooth, silky dick into his eager mouth-
Navojan was already growing hard.
His fantasies were out of control these days. He’d even begun writing them down. Short erotic poems in the style of one of his favorite Milosian authors. Some days he even toyed with the idea of showing them to Galen, but he couldn't. It would be mortifying.
Instead, the sexual frustration drove him to distraction. He spent most nights in bed, reading any explicit content he could find, including the ridiculous descriptions of sex in bad terran romance novels. He often fell back on toys to stimulate his ridges and thighs, raking the sharp edges of his tail against his penis, and waking up in a cold sweat to an empty apartment. He’d never admit, even to himself, how satisfying he found the crevice tool on his vacuum cleaner. Milosian neck ridges were quite responsive to suction.
God, he missed being sucked off by an actual person. Milosian lovers were far more creative than any toy could duplicate. There had been Toyal, who did the most wonderful things with that long, long tongue; Telek, who just liked to snuggle; and Thrax, who took full advantage of his unique physiology. Ah, the things that man could do with pain.
All Milosians were born with an enhanced tolerance to pain, but the ability varied tremendously between individuals. Navojan’s readings were off the charts. It was one of the reasons he was sought after by the military: not only could he tolerate unbearable pain, but his body transformed it into pleasurable impulses. The connection between pain and pleasure was imprinted onto most soldiers through a combination of natural ability and behavioral conditioning. In Navojan’s case, it was hardly necessary.
One night Thrax had somehow acquired an impressive collection of medical supplies. Navojan had never experienced anything quite like it. The defibrillator was certainly not meant to be used that way, but damn if it hadn't been the most intense sensation he’d ever enjoyed. The high had lasted for hours.
In his apartment, Navojan almost came just thinking of it. He could still feel the shock on his belly, imagine his head tossed back, hear his screams echo through the soundproof room. He quickly grew hard, and reached into his pants to pump his cock, stroking and squeezing and oh god, he needed this today. It was heady, the release, the reminder that his body still functioned, if only for fantasy. He could feel Thrax’s teeth on his neck, nails raking over his belly, hands pushing him roughly against the wall, the scent of the dusty walls in his rustic barracks.
Reaching under the bed for his box of toys, he warmed up some lube with his hands and prepared himself as quickly as he could manage. Nav found a vibrator, spread his cheeks, and placed it inside. He contorted himself to stick his tail in his ass beside the vibrator and the dual sensation sent him right over the edge. His orgasm seemed to last an eternity before he collapsed on the couch, spent. He inhaled deeply; the room had that sweet smell of sex, and his clothes were soaked. He’d need a shower, but he’d find the energy for that later.
Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, Navojan felt the familiar twinge of confusion. His face had been surgically altered to resemble a human’s and seeing someone else’s reflection in the mirror was still odd almost a decade later. What were once ridges on his forehead now passed for large and ugly scars. People generally assumed they were the result of a childhood accident, burns from a fire, or evidence of some sort of horrific abuse, and he encouraged those stories while saying little. A history of trauma made it easy for others to understand why Navojan would want to stay as far away from a medical scanner as possible. They believed he simply didn't want to be touched and was understandably wary of the vulnerability required to submit to a medical exam.
Medical care was unnecessary in any case. Navojan had undergone comprehensive survival training in the military. Operatives needed to be able to identify edible plants, skin and cook meat, discover fresh water, mend their clothes, find shelter, and gain the trust of others while hiding their own origins. All recruits were trained as medics and were well-versed in rudimentary first aid. Left unsaid was that if they found themselves seriously injured or ill, they were expected to die quietly in a place where no one would find the body.
The journal was a habit ingrained from his mission to study and document Earth culture. The military required written records so that no traces of advanced technology could be found. But more importantly, Navojan processed his thoughts best in Misodean. Writing in his native language was both cathartic and painful. How long had it been since Navojan had heard his childhood language spoken?
Galen was always pushing for lessons in the Misodean language. Nav often teased that he’d be hopeless with the more difficult and guttural sounds.
He smiled. Maybe he’d take Galen up on his request.
At some point, Nav had sat up on the couch, although he couldn’t remember doing so. He hadn’t meant to get so lost in memories today, but he supposed it made sense after reading his old journals. He couldn’t believe how naive he’d been in those days. So trusting.
Navojan remembered the exact moment he’d stopped believing anyone would come for him. It was a warm day and he’d found the perfect place to while away a few hours in a public park. Navojan had always loved the feeling of grass on his back, the smell of fresh flowers, the wind whipping across his face as he closed his eyes for a few hours. He’d awoken to the now familiar night sky, the usual scents of spring, and the streets of his neighborhood, and Milosia had seemed as far away as one of the fantasy lands in Galen’s books.
And so later that night, as they discussed Grimm’s fairy tales over dinner, Galen’s nostalgic memories of grandparents reading to him at bedtime had sparked surprisingly potent feelings of h
omesickness in Navojan. He rarely allowed himself to think of his family, but he hadn’t been able to help it. His guard had slipped just enough for Galen to catch the pain in his eyes. All it had taken was a split-second of inattention for Nav to lean far enough forward that Galen could glimpse his ridges under the thick turtleneck.
Almost a full minute passed before Navojan registered Galen’s wide, shocked eyes and realized his mistake. When Galen looked up from his alien neck, they’d stared at one another for a long moment.
Navojan excused himself quickly and ran to his dwelling, panicked. He’d have to leave, of course; his training kicked in immediately as he scanned the hologram of the globe to see where his best escape route lay.
There was a knock at the door. He ignored it. The sound became more insistent.
“Navojan. I know you’re in there. Open the door.”
Shit. He’d forgotten to dim the lights. He stayed as still as possible, but heard no footsteps moving away. Galen was waiting him out.
Reluctantly, he opened the door a crack, and said, “I’m afraid I’m not feeling too well. Must be something I ate. We’ll have to talk another time-“
He'd tried to close the door but Galen had stubbornly held it open. Navojan could have called security, but the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself. All it would take was one person lowering the collar of his shirt and he’d be finished.
Dropping the pretense, he finally opened the door and motioned for Galen to come in.
Galen’s face was kind, which shocked him. When was the last time he’d been offered kindness? He looked at the young man. Galen held a flask. He took a swig, then handed it to Navojan who, after a moment’s pause, did the same.
“Let’s sit,” Galen said gently. “We’ve both had a shock.”
Service to the State: A literary seduction Page 2