Diplomacy Squared Page 2

  "Have you seen those trousers they wear? Come on!"

  "They don't all wear trousers like that," Diego offered.

  Both women shot him a look, not quite a glare, but their meaning was clear—butt out.

  "Sorry," he mumbled.

  The women finished their lunch and they and the others at the second table left. The empty seats quickly refilled, but Diego was left alone. He hadn't ever thought about Antho females. He was gay and appreciative of the strong masculine characteristics displayed—were they ever displayed—by many of the Antho. He hadn't noticed there were no Antho displaying complementary female characteristics.

  "It crowd today. May I sit with you?"

  Diego looked up, startled. An Antho was holding a tray and looking at him. His head was tilted, and a long braid of mostly red hair slid over his shoulder. Diego shot a swift look around the room, even as he said, "Please."

  Before coming to the station, Diego had thought he'd never be able to tell one Antho from another, which was foolish enough but after only one meeting, he most certainly recognized this one. Administrator Portya was unmistakable, from his golden eyes to the particular rasp of his voice. His clothing was a similar cut to their meeting of the previous day and Diego guessed it was Antho business wear. The jacket was of a pale dusky blue, with a tone on tone pattern of threads.

  Diego forced himself to bring his gaze up to the administrator's face before it dropped any lower. Did Humans "all look alike" to the Antho?

  "Captain Bahaghari, you are?"

  That answered that question. "Yes."

  The corners of the administrator's eyes crinkled slightly as he took the seat opposite Diego.

  "Administrator Portya," Diego acknowledged belatedly, giving each syllable equal weight.

  "Portya," the Antho replied, emphasizing first syllable. "Administrator is title."

  "Portya," Diego repeated.

  "Captain is title, yes? You are Bahaghari."

  "My full name is Diego Bahaghari, but you can call me Diego. Is Portya your family name?" Diego looked down. His question coincided with Portya putting food in his mouth, a small spoonful of pale, creamy something that spilled over thin dark lips. Looking up through his eyelashes, he watched a pink tongue swipe a drop of whatever it was. Like licking spunk after a blowjob. You did not just think that.

  "My full name sound strange. Complex. Diego is…" He paused, possibly to search for the Syncrete word he wanted. "Similar? Like Antho name. Administrator not teach…teached? All Syncrete? You," he gestured toward Diego and then tapped his own chest, "I, talk? I…know more?"

  Diego felt his eyes widen. The idea that he was somehow qualified to teach Syncrete to an alien, let alone the administrator of the entire space station was alarming. "I might not be the best person."

  "No?"

  Diego smiled, and then wondered if showing off teeth was rude in Antho culture. He couldn't recall seeing one smile. He wiped the expression off his face. "I might accidentally say something insulting and start an interstellar war," he said.

  To his surprise, the skin around Portya's eyes wrinkled again and his nostrils, somewhat flat to his head, flared. Had his statement already insulted the Antho?

  "That is? Amusing. You is amusing."

  Diego drew and released a breath of relief and smiled again. He'd heard the reason the Antho learned Syncrete was because apart from science and tech, most Antho languages consisted of a great deal of complicated body language that Humans weren't observant enough to catch all the nuances of. He was pretty sure he had just figured out the equivalent of laughter.

  Not knowing what else to say, he concentrated on his pureed soup. He kept his eyes down, because he found it hard not to stare. Diego didn't want Portya to feel uncomfortable. But he couldn't stop his gaze from wandering across the table.

  The Antho's strangely formed hands were narrow with long, slender fingers that were tipped with the same blunted claws he noted on the dockworkers. The three fingers of his right hand had a total of eight rings in different styles. Culturally significant? Decorative? He wasn't sure it was polite to ask.

  As Portya wrapped his beringed fingers around a tall, narrow drinking glass, Diego wondered how they would feel around his dick. Where did that come from? What is wrong with me?

  His cheeks heated in embarrassment and Portya asked, "What it mean, you—your—face change colour?"

  If he could turn redder, he probably did. "It's complex."

  Portya gave him a look, his head tilted slightly, but he simply continued eating.

  Diego turned his attention to his own food, and as the meal progressed so did his understanding of just what his feelings were in regard to his dining companion. Attraction. Desire. Pure lust.

  THREE

  "I knew coming out here was currency back home, but whew, hadn't expected so much," Wilma said as Diego input the freshly calculated Fold equation into the computer. Being assigned to the alien space station made them popular and Wilma might have been referring to lovers chasing after her or the little gifts an alarming number of people tried to give them, for themselves and for the aliens.

  Diego grunted in reply. He didn't care for the attention, and after living on the station for over an Earth month, it felt weird to experience some of the attitudes of his fellow Humans. Some verged on worshipful, others on violence.

  They'd gone to Earth on a supply run to restock the Beresh station's embassy kitchens. Several other restaurants, run for profit by native Anthos, had also placed orders, pleased to offer their patrons genuine imported Human food. They'd paid too, which Diego and the rest of the crew had agreed not to mention to either Starways or Commander Zaya.

  "It's the easiest job we've ever had, to be sure." After a short visit to see his parents, Diego had stayed near the supply depot. Antho fetishism had spawned a sub-genre of digital porn, which Diego had never been interested in—until he'd met some Antho in person. One in particular.

  Alone on the ship, Diego had downloaded some, more curious than he should be. He hadn't needed more than a look to know whoever made it had less idea of what Antho might have under their clothes than he did. It did nothing to abate his lecherous thoughts and his last night before returning to Mikesi he picked up a handsome young man to slake his desire.

  It hadn't helped.

  "Would you sleep with one?"

  Wilma whipped her head around. "A calico?"

  "Don't call them that."

  She opened her mouth and closed it. "I wouldn't," she said slowly. "Not because I think they're bad or anything, I just don't get the attraction. I mean sure between the chin and the thighs they're…sort of attractive in general, but the faces and those weird legs." Wilma shuddered. "Can't get my head around that. Even their hands are disturbing." She gave him a sidelong look as she began to run a pre-emergence sequence. "Would you?"

  "I didn't used to think so."

  She grinned, keying the information with practised precision. "No judgement if you do, Captain. Everyone's got their kink. Ready for Fold Emergence."

  The ship came out of Folded space with less than a hundredth of a percentage of error—still huge if uncorrected, but easy to fix while they were still several hours out—and the journey continued with no more talk about interspecies sex.

  He and Rudy made sure none of the staples meant for Caravan's galley were off-loaded by mistake while Wilma tossed him a salute recognized by no military in the history of salutes and headed back to her quarters. "If you do anything I wouldn't do," she called back, "I don't wanna know about it."

  At least knowing that even if his second wouldn't ever fuck an alien, she'd be okay if he did left him feeling better about the idea. Was that a good thing?

  As he rounded the curve of the habitat ring, four Antho were standing in an observation port. They spoke in sibilant notes, heads and shoulders and arms moving to the musicality of their words in small, elegant gestures. As awkward as they appeared standing still, they were a truly g
raceful species in motion.

  Diego recognized Portya—how much had he stared at the station administrator over the past weeks that he could recognize him from behind?—and wondered if he should interrupt to say hello. No, that would be rude.

  As he passed, he heard Portya's raspy voice call out, "Captain Bahaghari! Need talk to you. Please…wait?"

  Diego stopped, the unexpected request sending an entirely inappropriate thrill through him. He turned and smiled politely until Portya reached his side. "Administrator."

  "We talk next lounge."

  The habitation ring featured sitting areas with observation ports, a generous name for essentially just wide spots in the corridor where people could stop and chat without blocking traffic. They were often empty this time of day, as most occupants were about their jobs or sleeping after their shift. "What did you need to talk to me about?" Diego asked. Had one of his crew done something untoward? But they had only docked an hour ago, that couldn't be it.

  "No thing. I not longer want talk to they. Them."

  A laugh bubbled up and out of Diego. He hadn't expected to find a shared sense of humour with aliens; it seemed among the more unlikely of things to have in common. But as he laughed, he noticed Portya's eyes crinkle and his nostrils flare as the last time he'd found something amusing. "I am happy to be your excuse." Immediately after he spoke, he wished he could revise his comment. He was happy for any reason to be able to talk to Portya again, but he didn't think he should say so.

  Abruptly aware that he was alone with the one Antho he had dirty fantasies about, he shifted uncomfortably. "Um, have you eaten?" I did not just ask him to dinner!

  "I eat evening meal."

  "Oh." Damn.

  Portya was wearing one of those jackets that covered so very little of his chest, and the similarities to human musculature were painfully obvious. He hadn't realized he was staring, until Portya asked, "Diego?" He spoke the syllables of Diego's name in his raspy voice, a voice that he couldn't help but think of as sexy as it tickled his ears.

  He licked his lips as a blush heated his cheeks. Portya would probably be horrified if he knew the thoughts that crossed Diego's mind, or the dreams he had almost every night. If literally being from two different worlds weren't enough, did the fact the Antho hid their females away mean same sex relationships were more likely? Or completely frowned upon?

  Diego swallowed as Portya closed the space between them forcing him to look up. "Diego?"

  "I, um."

  The station was scent-free because of the Antho sensitive nose and Diego had assumed that meant the Antho didn't wear perfumes or colognes themselves. But now, this close to Portya, he could smell something. It reminded him of freshly turned earth or newly cut grass. He'd never noticed it before.

  "You smell different." Portya's words, so hard on the heels of his own thoughts, startled him.

  "Wh-what?"

  Portya stepped closer, too close, and put his face centimeters from Diego's neck, drawing in a deep breath.

  Glad one of us can breathe. His hands itched to touch the beautiful creature, so close to him that it would take scarcely any movement at all to kiss the alien cheek, taste that flesh.

  "You smell…similar like…desire?"

  He could smell Diego's wayward thoughts? "Um. Yes," he confessed as his faced heated. No point in denying it now, if Portya could smell it. Making something up was beyond his ability. Thinking was beyond his ability.

  Portya flexed his odd knees and lowered his head, so that they were almost nose to nose. Diego's gaze darted from Portya's golden eyes—flecked with green—to his thin black lips. "D-do your people kiss?"

  "Kiss? I not know that word."

  "It's this," Diego said, and then his hand was cupping Portya's face and he pressed his lips to the dark line of Portya's mouth.

  Portya didn't kiss back, but neither did he push Diego away. Instead, one of his oddly jointed hands settled on Diego's hip, clasping it gently.

  Diego varied the pressure of his lips, his nose filling with Portya's scent. He parted his lips slightly and let his tongue slide gently across Portya's mouth. He sucked on Portya's lower lip as his fingers teased at the soft hair escaping the braid. He'd never felt hair so soft.

  Portya ran his tongue across the top of Diego's lip, a slow hesitant motion.

  Diego shuffled closer, with some vague idea of more body contact, when Portya suddenly pulled his head away.

  "Excuse me," he said, and took two steps backward, returning to his full height.

  Diego stared in confusion, then he heard the soft growling sounds of the Antho native language. He coughed and turned toward to the port view to hide his erection. Portya, reflected in the thick polyacryl window, seemed completely unaffected and as the other Anthos came into view, he slid in behind them without so much as a backwards glance.

  Great. I just assaulted the station Administrator. An alien. Very diplomatic, Diego.

  FOUR

  Diego grabbed a sandwich from the cafeteria, and a disposable cup of what he thought was pudding. He walked quickly, with his head down, and breathed a sigh of relief as the door to his quarters closed behind him. The small unit was laid out with the bed prominent, and an eating area almost hidden away in cubicle that had one tiny port window. All the furnishings were designed to accommodate Anthos and their backwards-jointed legs. That wasn't a problem, except their different leg structure also increased the average furniture height by a noticeable amount. It gave his quarters a slightly disorienting effect.

  He ate on the bed, which was a thick pad on a platform with a number of surprisingly homey blankets. Sitting at the table left his feet mostly off the floor, an awkward feeling not experienced since childhood.

  The sandwich was better than he expected, the crusty bread tasted homemade, and the meat-like substance inside was accompanied by enough cheese and condiments to compensate for the mystery. The pudding, however, wasn't pudding at all. It was an Antho dish. Deliberately refusing to think of Portya, he studied the cup.

  Part of the information packet he'd received initially from Portya—not thinking of him—stated that Antho food wasn't in any way poisonous to Humans.

  Finally, he pulled off the lid. It most resembled rice pudding with smaller grains of, well, grain. It was also more viscous than rice pudding. He dipped in a spoon and tried it. All the words he knew for texture and consistency seemed wrong. It was creamy, sort of. Not exactly sweet, nor really savoury, yet not bland, either. He licked his lips as a second spoonful spilled a little. He hesitated to call it good. But it wasn't bad, either. Over time he could probably acquire a taste for it. Why would you need to do that?

  Diego finished his meal and tossed the waste in the recycler chute. He could go out. The station had a few entertainment venues where one could spend one's scrip, and they were supposed to be hybrid, catering to both species. He hadn't gone yet; it had taken several weeks to process all his crew's paperwork and oversee the installation of security measures to protect the shuttles.

  A shower, that's what he needed before he went out. A nice cold one, perhaps. Two large round cylinders at the foot of the bed provided shower and toilet facilities. The water rations were generous for a space habitation, and he felt more his usual self afterwards. He was even humming as he toweled himself dry.

  He wasn't sure what the chirping sound was at first, until he realized it was someone at his door. His first visitor. Diego wrapped the towel around his waist and spun out of the tiny bathroom. It was only a few steps across surprisingly deep carpet to the door and he opened it by tapping the control panel.

  Expecting one of his crew members, his jaw dropped when he saw Portya standing there. "Uh…hi?"

  Portya stepped inside and the door slid closed automatically. "I want…to learn more about…kiss? Please." His raspy voice hesitated, perhaps looking for the correct Syncrete words. Maybe not. Diego could imagine a dozen different reasons for Portya to be hesitant, half of them he was fe
eling himself.

  He swallowed his nerves, and then swallowed again as he realized Portya's golden gaze was tracking over his body. This must have been as surreal for Portya as it was for him, yet there he was, asking for more kisses. Or so Diego chose to interpret. "I, uh, should get dressed."

  "No," Portya said and his eyes crinkled. His head dipped towards Diego and he drew in a breath. "Yes-sss, smell good." His voice was low and more raspy than usual.

  Diego's own nose, not nearly as sensitive, caught Portya's grassy scent. He breathed out a long silent sigh before complying with his request. He kissed Portya's thin, dark lips, unsure if he'd get a response, and was startled when Portya's warm, dry fingers touched his skin, his back. His breath caught, and he broke the kiss.

  Portya's other hand clasped around his head, mimicking Diego's action. Portya's lips pursed against his, and then three fingers slid down Diego's spine. The towel fell away, and Diego moaned into Portya's mouth as his body was pulled firmly against Portya's warm body. His cock, half-hard since he opened the door, came to full attention, and Portya's was equally firm in his silk-like trousers.

  Impatient with Portya's clumsy kisses, Diego pressed his lips to Portya's neck, kissing gently down to his collarbone. He pushed a hand between their chests to fumble at the fastening of Portya's jacket. A magnet seemed to be the clasp and it parted with a little tugging.

  Portya shrugged out of the jacket one arm at a time, never fully releasing Diego.

  Diego continued to drop kisses across the slightly barrelled chest. He licked first one nipple then the other as Portya hissed and pressed Diego's head to his chest.

  Delighted to find that their bodies were not so different, Diego rubbed his cheek over the smooth chest as he straightened for another kiss. He tugged Portya's soft hair free of its braid.

  Portya clutched Diego's hips, grinding into Diego's erection with urgency. Diego discovered those trousers unfastened with a simple sharp tug, and he took a moment to catalogue the full beauty of Portya's naked body. Thick thighs angled backwards—that helped thrust his genitalia to such prominence. Diego stared hungrily at Portya's genitals, which looked very familiarly like a Human cock and balls in general shape. Portya's penis didn't seem to be much longer or thicker than it had appeared beneath his clothes, but now it was hard and angled up towards his stomach. A swollen crown, like a dark purple plum, was poking through a crinkled foreskin, inviting Diego to taste.