I am not your load to bear - Chapter 9 (Early Access) (Patreon)

Dillan

The only sounds in the office were slow keyboard clunks and the occasional sniff. Bexley went about his day as though nothing had happened, but Dillan knew his own awkwardness was infecting his colleague. He fidgeted; he couldn’t focus, and he had barely gotten any real work done all day. There was a tightness to Bexley’s body that told Dillan to let it go. Don’t bring up the issue. Let’s move past it.

“I need to talk about something…” Dillan said. His words sounded inappropriately loud in the silent room.

Bexley looked up from his screen with a grimace. “Anything but the events of yesterday, please."

An uncomfortable smile was all Dillan could offer in apology before he continued, "I… I wanted to ask a question, but it is quite awkward."

“More awkward than it already is in here?” Bexley sighed and his brow furrowed. “I know I am going to regret this, but sure.”

"It’s about… private parts."

Bexley blanched.

Dillan hurriedly forged on, “I just… I wanted to understand what is normal… for humans.”

"What?" Bexley's eyes rounded and suddenly his posture was perfect. "Did you see a mole on my balls or something?"

"A what?"

"Because if you did, I’d want to know! I don’t care about showing my arse to the ship medics. I don’t fuck around with health shit. I want wrinkles."

Dillan refrained from commenting that he had seen wrinkles on the ‘balls’ Bexley was burdened with. He assumed the human was already aware of that enormous growth hanging from between his legs…

"Dillan, you need to tell me, what did you see?"

Dillan shuffled on his seat, attempting to find the right position to somehow make this conversation less difficult. "Um." Bexley's stare was intense, awaiting Dillan's diagnosis. "Tristan doesn’t have a vagina."

Bexley’s head tilted a single degree and his dark eyes blinked slowly, then squinted. "Dillan, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Ailu’t… we all have vaginas, but Tristan doesn’t, and I wanted to know if that was… normal."

"You’re all girls?"

"No?"

“But you have a…” He nodded at Dillan’s trousers.

"Yes?"

“Oh. Okay. Guess I should get with the times a bit, huh?” He laughed awkwardly and fiddled with his collar. “So… you all have them?”

"Yes, and also a penis."

Bexley’s head froze in its tilt again and his eyes locked on the opposite wall for a few moments. "Okay. Got it."

Dillan shimmied his wheeled chair tight against his desk and dropped his voice. "I want to know if what Tristan has is… normal?"

Bexley leant forward too, joining Dillan in his secretive tone. "I wouldn’t say normal, the man is hung."

“Is hung a gender?” Dillan whispered, cautious of sounding even more ignorant than he already felt.

A snort of laughter seemed to knock the life back into Bexley. "I dread the day you stop asking stuff like this, man."

"Bexley!" Dillan huffed, irritated by the warmth of embarrassment in his cheeks.

"Ooh, you've gone from baby blue to baby purple!" Bexley teased. He leapt up from his seat, newly invigorated. "Come on, let's get coffee and I'll tell you all about Tristan's dick."

Dillan stood, against his better judgement, and allowed himself to be led to the cafeteria. Coffee meant completely different things depending on the human getting the coffee, he had realised - the drink never looked the same twice. Bexley 'took' his coffee with syrups and creams, and this got eye-rolls and sarcastic comments from some of the other men.

Sipping on a herbal tea, Dillan listened intently as Bexley explained a long list of euphemisms that related to human sex. It was fascinating, and disgusting. And interrupted by a tall figure sliding into their bench table, breaking the secluded bubble they had created in the corner of the cafeteria.

"Flickering-Hope, what a surprise," Bexley drawled. He had a cream moustache over the top of his stubble, but Dillan didn't think now was the time to inform him.

"The other logistics officer," Flickering-Hope said with a finger point, as though he were guessing Bexley's name.

Bexley hummed disapprovingly, giving Dillan a long look, before exiting. At his side, Flickering-Hope was far too close. Dillan focused his efforts on drinking his tea, and not shuffling down the bench away from him.

"I hope you don't think that was rude; I'm only teasing," Flickering-Hope reassured him quietly. "The humans like it usually."

"Just like us," Dillan added, attempting to sound casual.

Flickering-Hope made a non-committal sound. "Maybe with some training."

He laughed at Dillan's startled expression.

"Teasing again, Dynasty, I'm teasing." His hand patted Dillan's lower back a little too lightly to be friendly. More a caress. Perhaps Bexley was right about Flickering-Hope flirting with him. "I can tell you're very fond of them, it's sweet of you." Flickering-Hope's eyes dropped to Dillan's chest, then his lips, then re-connected eye-contact. "You've got such an open heart and mind."

Whatever this was... it didn't tickle the same parts of him that Tristan's behaviour did. At least, the way he'd treated Dillan on their date.

"Th-thank you. I think that we all do. That's why we applied for the trial, right?"

Flickering-Hope's laugh sounded forced now. "Of course. You're just sweeter than most of us here."

It was Dillan's turn to force a laugh. "You're too kind." He pretended that the clock on the far wall caught his eye. "Oh, I must be getting back to work." As he moved to climb free of the bench, Flickering-Hope offered his hand in support. Dillan let his palm rest atop it and stepped over to freedom. "It was nice to see you; have a good day."

"It is always nice to see you, Dynasty." Said with too much insinuation, it ran a shiver up Dillan's neck. He had broken free of the man by a few steps when he added, "where are my manners? Let me walk you to the office."

"I wouldn't want to take up your break ti-"

Flickering-Hope was already out of his seat and almost at Dillan's back. "Break times aren't exactly official for the cargo loaders." Flickering-Hope half-grinned. "No one is counting the seconds I'm away." He slipped the empty mug from Dillan's hands, brushing their fingers in a way that felt deliberately slow. "Let me take that for you."

"Th-thank you." Dillan watched Flickering-Hope put the mug on the 'DIRTY' tray and jog back to meet him at the door to leave.

In the corridor, Dillan was forced to match Flickering-Hope's languid pace.

"Are you East-Southern?” Flickering-Hope enquired casually. “Major Symphony told me you both speak Southern."

"Ah-" Dillan glanced around nervously. "No, I'm South-Western. I speak English with Marine Major Symphony."

"But you can speak it?" This time in Southern.

"Y-yes, it's my neighbour language,” Dillan replied, in English.

Flickering-Hope had a sharpness to his eyes that hadn’t been there in the cafeteria. "Are you scared to get caught speaking our own language?"

"We're... supposed to speak English," Dillan mumbled.

"Is that fair? That we have to speak their language, but they don't bother to learn even the greetings of ours?"

"They all speak one languag;, we all speak different ones.” Dillan shrugged. “It's easy to have a universal language, right?" He tried to seem cheerful. "It's nice to be able to speak to Ailu't that I never would have before because I don't know their language."

Flickering-Hope hummed, unconvinced.

"So, you are Southern?" Dillan asked, cordial in tone and mild-smile in place.

Before he could answer, a pair of women swung around the corner and into the corridor they were very slowly meandering down. One with a circlet of curly yellow hair woven into a thick braid around her head, the other swinging a long, black length of hair tied at the base of her skull.

Commander Laurel and Marine Major Symphony.

Dillan and Flickering-Hope both halted and stood straighter as the pair approached.

“Afternoon, Officer Dynasty,” Commander Laurel greeted with a warm smile. She had an earthy, genuine charm that radiated from her. It put people at ease with little effort.

Dillan smiled back. “Good afternoon, Commander Laurel.”

“And I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure?” She looked to Flickering-Hope. Dillan wasn’t familiar with the expression, but it seemed she was asking for his name.

Major Symphony answered for him, one step behind the commander, “Cargo Loader Flickering-Hope, Commander.” She gave Flickering-Hope a friendly nod, which he returned.

“Good afternoon, Commander, Major.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes when he set it on the commander.

“A good afternoon to you, too, Flickering-Hope.” Commander Laurel continued on her way, with Marine Major Symphony at her heels.

Dillan took the opportunity to dash to the half-open door of the logistics documentation office at the furthest end of the corridor. Thankfully, Flickering-Hope didn’t chase him in.