by Cari Z.
Ferran only sat in on some of the cultural lectures. The rest of the time, he was being drilled on the beginnings of what awaited him once he entered diplomatic training. In an atmosphere that rarely allowed for privacy or intimacy, they both felt the strain, but Ferran more particularly.
“He’ll have to learn to deal with it,” Giselle said bluntly a week out from the Jacksonville colony. “He’s going from being the cosseted, sole surviving son of a matriarch to a working and productive member of his society. All pups are spoiled on Perelan, but his mother had the means to see to it that Ferran wanted for nothing. I think you might have been the first thing in his life that he was told he couldn’t have, and then, in the end, he got you after all.”
“Ferran’s not lazy,” Jason argued.
“No, he’s certainly not. Ferran has had to fill many roles for his family, from cooking to comfort to assisting his mother with affairs of state. The things that make him ill-prepared for tedious work like this are the same things that will make him an excellent diplomat, once he learns to apply himself for himself, without worrying about who he has to please next. His job will be furthering the good relations of his people in the larger universe. And who could be better at that than such a charming young person?” Giselle smiled brightly at Jason.
“And speaking of charms, have you thought about what new skill you’re going to teach to the Perel? Grenn understands and supports you and Ferran wanting to be together because you love each other, but the rest of the Council is going to want more from you than your mere presence. You’re going to have to be ready to show them something. Preferably several somethings. Preferably things that are new to Perelan. What can you do that would fit the bill?”
Jason raised one eyebrow. “I hope you’re not expecting too much.”
“Well, I know you can’t do ballet.” Giselle smiled as Jason couldn’t quite hide his exasperation. “Perhaps low-grav acrobatics? Aerial contortion?”
“I’m not that flexible, sorry.”
“What about the softer arts?” Giselle motioned toward the landscape painting on one of the walls in the stateroom. “Can you paint? Maybe play an instrument?”
“No to both.”
“Sing?”
“No, Giselle.”
“You’re not making this easy, Jason.” Giselle tapped one painted nail on the tabletop impatiently. “Well, what can you do?”
“I was put into a military school almost as soon as I could walk,” Jason said. “I’m a warrior, and those are the sorts of things I’ve learned. Piloting a ship, battle strategy, hand-to-hand combat, several different types of fencing, classic hapkido—things that are useful in war or in training warriors. This is what I can do.” He refused to apologize for his abilities, the things that he had spent decades training and sweating and bleeding for.
“The martial arts might work,” Giselle mused. “There might be an avenue there, if they’re taught as a moving meditation or a form of exercise. The Council won’t approve instruction in anything that’s outright combat-oriented. That kind of knowledge is restricted to a very special subculture on Perelan.”
“What subculture?” Jason asked.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss it, and honestly, I don’t know very much. It’s considered very private for the Perel. Perhaps Ferran will tell you more.”
But Jason didn’t see Ferran until very late that night, and by the next morning it had slipped his mind. He and Giselle had worked something out anyway.
Giselle’s personal physician, Dori Anders, taught anatomy and biology. Dori was so ancient that he actually looked old, despite Regen treatments. He had storm-cloud gray hair and eyes to match it, he hunched awkwardly through the shoulders and neck, and he was possibly the friendliest person on the ship. He spoke with a broad accent Jason knew came from somewhere on the Fringe, and his smiling face was creased with so many lines it looked like a topographical map.
“Anatomically, in many ways, they’re the same as us, but structurally, there are a few notable differences.” Every vowel sounded like he was adding an h to the beginning of it, making him seem slightly out of breath.
Jason tried to refocus his thoughts on what Dori was saying and not how he was saying it. “The quills.”
“The quills are one,” Dori agreed. “Originally probably defensive, they grew into more of a decorative role over time. Nowadays their original use is almost lost, although with the right hormone combination flowing through a Perel’s system, quills can be temporarily hardened into stiff shafts. They function like flexible knives in that state, and can be broken off to use offensively.”
“What kind of combination does that?”
“Oh, variations on anger or fear. Lust, under some circumstances, but I doubt you’re in trouble on any of those accounts, boy. I’ve followed the paths of generations of Perel youths letting themselves go abroad, and only two of their bed partners ever experienced wounds, according to reports. By all accounts, they deserved everything they got too.”
Jason nodded once. “Good. What else?”
Dori pulled up an image of a Perel’s head, each new layer of tissue meticulously separated and labeled. “They used to be strictly nocturnal—didn’t start changing that until recently, and you’re still going to have to adapt to a life lived primarily during the dark hours. The skin over their eyes is the thinnest anywhere on their body. Everywhere else, it’s substantially thicker: two to three times the density of yours and mine. If they were living in caves or forests like they used to, their skin would be so rough to the touch that it would rub you raw in places. You see it more with the matriarchs than the males, probably due to the stress of childbearing.”
“What else?”
“Medically speaking, everything we know about Perels would fit in the palm of my hand.” Dori sighed. “Very closed-off people, very tetchy about their medical issues. I’ve been offering for over a dozen years to take a look into the whole fertility issue, but apparently, allowing anyone foreign to run tests on them is so forbidden I was almost locked up for even suggesting it. It took some fast talking by Giselle to keep me from spending time in a penitent’s cage.”
“A penitent’s cage?” Jason repeated, his brow furrowing just a little bit. “What’s that?”
“The nicer type of punishment available to a Perel,” Dori said. “Kind of like the stocks in some of the central Federation planets. A method of public shaming that’s uncomfortable but not dangerous.”
Not dangerous as long as the people around you left you alone and didn’t take advantage of your vulnerability. In Jason’s experience, that didn’t usually happen. He pushed the memories away and refocused on the conversation. “And the other type of punishment?”
“Getting dropped in the middle of the jungle and told to find their way back.” Dori snorted and shook his head. “But you have to have done something pretty awful to warrant that. Some of them make it back to the city. Most die. There’s evidence that a few started their own little colony out in the wilderness, but no one really pays much attention to that.”
Abandoning someone in the middle of a jungle seemed like a pretty harsh sentence to Jason, especially if you basically expected the trip back to kill them. He didn’t want to get into his views on crime and punishment with Dori, who was looking at him expectantly, so in the end, the only thing Jason said was, “Interesting.”
“Quite. Now, let me tell you about their muscular development.”
The lecture that followed wasn’t nearly so interesting.
Penelope acted as Giselle’s second-in-command. She took one of them, generally Jason, when Giselle wanted them to get different lectures on the same subject. She didn’t seem to outwardly emote much at all, not even when she was dealing with Giselle. Maybe it was because she expected to deal with empaths all day, and letting her emotions show would compromise her status. Maybe it was the result of a trauma, or just the standard wherever she had been born and raised. Jason wondered about i
t, but he had no intention of asking. People deserved their privacy, and he wouldn’t have felt comfortable bringing it up.
That didn’t stop him from broaching the subject with Ferran while they lay together in their bed. It had been a long, especially exhausting day, and it felt good just to hold each other without the looming specter of being broken apart for classes. “What do you get from Penelope?” Jason murmured into Ferran’s ear, stroking one hand along his lover’s arm.
“Not much,” Ferran confessed. “It’s very strange. It’s as though there’s only the memory of emotion inside of her, not the emotion itself. She lives and walks and breathes and thinks, but she doesn’t feel things. The nearest sense of anything I get from her is a sort of wistfulness.”
“Wistfulness? What about?”
“I can’t be that specific,” Ferran said. He looked sad, a little distant. “I wish I could, but honestly, I don’t like to feel too deeply toward her. It makes me sad.”
“Don’t be sad,” Jason whispered, and then pressed small kisses to Ferran’s cheek, down to the point of his chin. Ferran dipped his head to lean into Jason’s next kiss, framing Jason’s face in his hands. Hands that were three times stronger than a human’s hands, attached to arms that would make the most seasoned human climber positively explosive with jealousy. He had never overtly displayed any of this strength to Jason, never manhandling him, never forcing him, and certainly never even coming close to hurting him during sex. Considering that Ferran was not only stronger, he was also capable of slicing Jason to ribbons if the wrong hormonal cocktail got into his blood, Jason felt pleased that he could still touch Ferran without hesitation.
“I would never hurt you,” Ferran said as he pulled away, the expression in his eyes wounded and his face tired and vulnerable. “Never.”
Well, perhaps Jason had hesitated a little. “I know that,” he assured his husband, kissing his mouth lingeringly. “I do know that.”
“Show me.”
“I will.” He kissed him again. “I am.” They were both nude, fresh from the shower, and Jason pressed their bodies close for a long moment before saying, “Turn over.”
Ferran reluctantly let go of Jason’s shoulders and rolled over onto his stomach, arching sensuously against the bed. Jason knelt between his legs, spreading them wide but not touching Ferran there. Instead, he placed his palms against the back of Ferran’s head and slowly stroked down the length of his spine, working his fingers into the feathery quills and scratching, activating a reflex that Jason knew would harden them slightly. His hands slid smoothly through the mass, all the way down Ferran’s back until the trail of them ended at the very base of his spine. Jason freed his hands, watching the quills soften to feathers again, and then repeated the process. It was meditative in a way, perhaps more soothing for himself than the recipient. With Ferran, there was always permission to touch—any part of him, however Jason wanted to.
Ferran was purring in moments, becoming more and more relaxed with every pass. Jason expanded his range, gliding over skin and muscle, digging in with his thumbs when he felt a knot and christening each spot with a kiss once he was done with it. It took a while to ensure that his lover was completely relaxed; Ferran had been carrying around more tension lately than Jason was used to seeing in him. Finally, Jason caressed his husband’s shoulders before he made his way down to Ferran’s hips and gently nudged them up. It left Ferran pressed back against Jason’s cock, which was so hard he ached with the tension. “Ferran….”
“Heeere….” Lax, fumbling fingers passed a small container back to him, and Jason opened it, slicked himself, and drew Ferran back until they slowly slid together. Ferran was loose enough from frequent sex and the massage that he was able to take Jason without being stretched first, but it was still a gradual process that ended with the two of them upright, Jason sitting back on his heels and Ferran sitting against him. Jason took advantage of the lull to touch Ferran’s chest, his fingers exploring and teasing, descending boldly, and finally wrapping around Ferran’s cock.
“Jason.” Ferran rose and fell erratically, moving into the hand that gripped him one moment and back against the cock impaling him the next. He felt so good on Jason, tight and close and safe, but it wasn’t enough; and after a few minutes, Jason had to push Ferran forward and lower them both back to the bed. He ended up plastered to his husband’s back. Jason felt every ridge, every trembling quill and eager muscle shaking with Ferran’s need.
Jason thrust deeper and harder into his lover, closing his eyes and letting himself go, giving up worry and care for the sheer pleasure that was being with, over, and in Ferran. One hand was still folded around Ferran’s cock, just there for him to thrust into, and Ferran snapped his hips forward in perfect harmony with Jason’s movements. The two of them came simultaneously, almost as though it were planned—and perhaps Ferran had planned it that way. Jason certainly hadn’t. It had been too long since he and Ferran had had a moment for real passion, a chance to take pleasure in one another that wasn’t rushed, furtive, or primarily for comfort.
Jason rolled both of them onto their sides, but kept himself lodged firmly inside of his husband. “I know you’d never hurt me,” he said once he caught his breath. “I really do know that.”
“Good.” It was Ferran’s turn to let his hands wander, and he did, stroking the arms that encircled him and holding Jason close enough to keep their intimate connection.
Right now, with both of them relaxed and content, was a good time to bring up a question he’d had since Ferran had first mentioned it. “Ferran, what’s the rhezan? You asked Giselle about it the first day we came on board, and she said something about a public ceremony.”
Ferran stiffened a little, but he didn’t pull away. After a moment, he spoke. “It is a ritual that celebrates our marriages. The ceremony does not necessarily have to be public, but a demonstration of devotion before the rest of the community is usually seen as a good sign—a symbol of the strength of the union and the dedication the participants have towards each other. Private ceremonies are very rare and not usually well-regarded, although there are exceptions.”
Jason considered that for a moment. “Would having a public ceremony somehow dismiss the fact that I signed a contract with you for only a year?”
Ferran was absolutely still in his arms, but his voice was steady. “It would complicate things, but my mother doesn’t mind complications, if it means getting her way.”
“I already told you that I never intend to give you up, and I mean that,” Jason said, kissing the tip of one of Ferran’s ears. “I just don’t want to play games that I don’t know the rules to.”
Ferran slowly slid forward, freeing himself from Jason’s cock with a soft whimper before turning and wrapping his arms around Jason. The air was thick with the scent of them, sex and heat and musky desire. Ferran pushed until Jason was flat on his back, and then laid his head down on Jason’s chest, his ear pressed close to the skin, listening to the rhythm of Jason’s body.
“I will help you,” Ferran promised. “You’re very smart. It won’t take you long to understand things.”
“I hope you’re right.” Jason wanted to sleep, but his mind was going in a dozen different directions now, and he knew there was no way he’d even manage a doze without answers to some of his questions. “What’s a marriage ceremony like? Normally, I mean?”
“It takes place between the female getting married and her husband-to-be, closely surrounded by their extended families and select members of the community. It is an exchange of vows and loyalty in which the intended formally sheds his title of son for consort and renounces his service to his mother in exchange for a future of serving his wife. The female, in turn, offers her protection and affection, and promises to care for all of his needs and ensure that he is happy.
“If the matriarch already has other consorts, then they also speak words of welcome and vow to look after their new brother and to protect and shelter him. The new c
onsort’s mother will ritually forsake her son, and then the son will join his new family.” Ferran’s lips curved in a smile. “And then there is a huge party. It can go for days and days if the families are large enough.”
“It sounds like fun.”
“Marriage ceremonies are very fun to attend. They teach young males as well, showing them the future they should expect to have and what some of their responsibilities will be.” He raised his head a little and looked up at Jason. “When we arrive on Perelan, you’ll get the chance to see a marriage ceremony. Neyarr and Garrell’s is set for a month after our return. Their intended wanted it to be sooner, but they wished to wait for us to be present.”
“I think they wanted to wait for you to be present.”
Ferran shook his head. “No, not just me. Both of them enjoyed your company when we were aboard your ship. They actually spoke for us before the Council of Matriarchs, and they’re very pleased with our arrangement. They’ve asked their mother for permission to spend extra time with both of us upon our arrival, to help acclimate you to our world.”
Maybe to act as a buffer too. The matriarchs probably figured it was better to surround Jason with people that he actually knew, people who would forgive him his inevitable social gaffes, instead of the cream of Perel society. “I’ll be glad to see both of them again.”
“You mean that.” Ferran sounded a little surprised.
Jason knew why. He sighed. “I’ll always try to be truthful with you,” he told his husband seriously. “I know I’m not always going to succeed, but it’s not because I want to lie to you. I’m just not used to putting everything I feel into words.”
Ferran’s smile was back, wider and sharper than before. “How do you feel right now?” he asked, shimmying his body up and down Jason’s provocatively. Jason felt himself start to harden again.