Contort me against your body and mind - Chapter 21 (Early Access) (Patreon)

Slate

He knew the recording by heart. In English and South-Western. South-Western was not a language Slate was proficient in, but he had learnt every word that made it through the crackling speakers. It was the rule of bad luck that you never encountered someone who spoke either of the languages you did while away from home. All Ailu’t were raised with their home language and their neighbouring language. With the Northern and Western lands consisting of one enormous land mass, it made sense as a westerner to learn the language of the North. Very unhelpful in his current circumstances.

With every listen, his hopes held up that he might catch an additional moment of audio. A missed word. A piece of the puzzle. Anything to fortify The Sentinel before arrival at the crash site of The Cornucopia. With little information to draw expectations from, Slate felt an emptiness around and within him. He ate because it was time to. Slept when the clock informed him so. All thoughts were consumed on improvement, readiness, and preparation. The only time he was capable of thinking of anything outside of his duty to his ship, his crew, his mission, was the appearance of Bonnie. Her visits caught him off guard every time, sporadic in their frequency, and always a welcome reprieve.

She always came with questions. Sometimes a request. His favourite was to soul stretch with her. She was hopeless in terms of natural ability or flow, but that allowed him to pull her close and manipulate her body with his own.

They were trialling. Something Slate could never have imagined would come of his mission with the Alliance. Especially not with a human. They had agreed to keep their relationship as quiet as possible, but Slate wasn’t sure if he was obligated to inform the Alliance. As of yet, he hadn’t said a word to anyone. He was enjoying himself, as selfish as that was.

Whenever she left, he stole a brief kiss. Nothing wild or passionate. A brush of their lips, almost in passing. It was enough to sustain him until she returned. He got a sense from her, whenever their bodies were in very close proximity, that she was not comfortable with more. At the same time, she seemed to be waiting for him to attempt to push the current line they were hovering near. He wanted to. He wanted to tear off her uniform and devour her. He knew her skin would be soft under his tongue, that her smaller body could be easily twisted and turned and played with. But he refused to be the one to take the trial any further, it was up to her to cross the line. He had been first to kiss. It was her turn to decide what else they did.

They laid atop his mat post-stretch. As he levelled his breathing, he braced himself for the inevitable interview.

She was watching him, unblinking, and he knew she was about to burst if she didn't voice her newest interest soon.

"You have a question for me?" he asked wearily.

She shrugged against the mat.

"Go ahead, Doctor," he said with what he hoped was a gentle tone.

Doctor Bonnie did not need to be told twice.

"One thing I have been worried to ask, should I offend," she began, watching him carefully with those dark and curious eyes of hers. "Why are surnames are not used by your people? I am of the understanding from the patient records that you do have them, even if I cannot read them."

Slate nodded up at the ceiling and the slip-resistant material of his mat mussed his hair around his head.

"Yes," he said slowly, buying time as he wondered how to explain their naming system to a human. A species who called their children sounds with no meaning. Who felt it acceptable to share a housing allotment with multiple other humans with the same name. Apparently, names were important to humans. From what Slate could tell, they did not treat them as such. "We have community names. It is similar to your ‘family name’ but more like… a code for an area. It is not unique to your direct family, and shared with those in your local housing block."

“How interesting,” she commented. Her voice lilted in genuine interest. “Is that why it is not used for addressing each other? Because so many would have the same one?”

"No, you would never share the same name as someone within your community. We do not share first names like you do." He did not intend to be snide about the humans' strange naming practices, but it did not appear that she took the comment negatively. So, he continued. "The reason we do not call people by their community name is because it is rude." Perhaps that was too strong of a word, but it would take too long to peel apart the silent societal rules that hovered about the Ailu't at all times. Bonnie would only generate ten more questions for every piece of information he offered voluntarily. "In an indirect way you are talking about someone’s background, and that is not considered polite. We are very sensitive to this… topic."

He glanced across at Bonnie, gauging her reaction. She had rolled onto her side and her face was hyper-focused. Listening intently with sharp eyes and softly pouting lips. He wanted to flick them with the tip of his finger. He knew she would not be satisfied until he finished his explanation, though.

"I don’t know how open humans are to these kinds of discussions. We do not like to speak of our backgrounds openly. Especially with those we do not know well." Bonnie nodded and he fought a smirk. She looked especially sweet with her head tilted and her braids draped over her shoulders in all directions. He could so easily lean over and brush them aside. And kiss her. He thought for a moment of a way to summarise his explanation in human terms. To wrap up the lesson without need for additional questions that would only take time away from their kissing and rolling around on the mat quota. He was due in a meeting shortly. "The only way I can think to compare it to human society would be if I called you Dr Poverty or Dr Middle Class."

After a brief pause, Bonnie whispered, "Oh, I see." She brought up a palm to balance her cheek upon it. "So others would know based on your area name what kind of upbringing you had, or all the things you didn’t have."

Slate nodded. "We don’t use community names because we don’t want there to be a stigma for those from poorer backgrounds." He hesitated for only a moment before throwing in his personal opinion, which he would normally hold in his mouth while on a mission. "But ignoring the class differences will not make them go away."

"Thank you for explaining that to me," Bonnie said sincerely. "I do really appreciate it."

Slate rolled onto his side to face her and extended a hand to brush her face. He stroked the pad of his thumb over her cheek and leant forward, eager for a taste of her lips again. He stopped an inch from her when he recognised the expression on her face. He sighed. "You want to ask about my area name." She blushed harder than when he kissed her. "I can see it in your eyes," he added.

"I do," she admitted. "I won’t. I respect your culture, and your privacy. But you should know that I would not view or treat you any differently based on your upbringing."

Slate announced a long word, that Bonnie made no reaction to. She stared at him with lips slightly parted.

“That’s my community name,” he added helpfully.

Bonnie grinned. “Well, the good news is that I will struggle to remember it if anyone were to ask me for it.”

“It is a middle-tier name," he explained. "I have no admirable tale of fighting my way through life against the odds, and my family have no expensive heirlooms. Not that I would wish for any different.”

“My family are upper middle class,” Bonnie said quietly. “Becoming a doctor came with the territory,” she joked with an awkward laugh.

“Your family are all doctors?”

“Mostly.”

“Psychiatrists?”

A laugh burst from Bonnie before she could catch herself. “Oh god no,” she laughed. “My father was incredibly disappointed that I didn’t go into something surgical. He said I only chose psychiatry so that I could lounge around and gossip all day.”

“You do talk an awful lot.”

“Talking is very healing," she said. She leant forward and brushed their noses together. "Whether you notice it happening or not.”

He responded by sealing their lips and she giggled into his mouth.

Talking is healing. He knew that was why she was here. As much as he enjoyed her company, she was not without her motives. Always on a mission to soften him with her soothing words. He also knew what the officers must be saying about him. The tales they must tell in her office.

Opinions were of no importance in a battle, especially from those who could not keep up with the troop. The only crew members with an issue with his new drills and regiments were the ones who needed the most discipline. The weakest link would break the chain; he had learnt that from a human book.