Diplomacy Squared Page 3

  Portya had other plans, collapsing back on the bed and pulling Diego on top of him. There was something he should be thinking of, some care or concern, he was half-certain ought to be kept in mind, but all he could think of was how Portya's thick cock felt, rubbing against his. How warm Portya's skin felt, how good Portya's clumsy kisses tasted.

  Portya's hair was so silky under his fingers, filling his nose with Portya's scent. Diego had some idea he was rutting hard on the body beneath him, between Portya's spread legs. Awareness narrowed to the intense sensation building in his balls. He was dimly aware of biting into Portya's shoulder as his orgasm came with sudden intensity. Hot come flooded between them, and Portya bucked his hips upwards.

  Diego collapsed, boneless, and only then felt Portya's fingers slowly releasing his hips. He'd have bruises, but so would Portya.

  "I'm sorry," Diego whispered, feeling guilty for rutting like a teenager. He'd come so hard, so fast…but not alone.

  "Why sorry?" Portya's voice was also different, somehow raspier and softer at the same time.

  But Diego was running his hand over their combined spunk on Portya's belly. He drew his fingers up to his nose and sniffed. Then he licked his fingers clean.

  "You eat…that?" Portya sounded horrified and was struggling to sit up.

  "No. I mean, it's not food. But it's not doing anything else, is it?" Diego rolled aside a little more to let Portya up and they both stared at Portya's belly. Portya's semen didn't look much different from his until he could see where they pooled together. One of them—Diego had no idea whose was whose—had the slightest of a yellow tinge.

  "No," Portya said, though his agreement sounded dubious.

  Diego blushed. He rolled out of bed and grabbed the towel from the floor. He wiped himself clean with one end, and flipped it around, giving Portya the clean part and a wary look. They should have talked about sex before having it. Was Portya's repugnance at the idea of putting semen in his mouth a personal dislike or a cultural taboo?

  He gave Portya's dick a subtle look. Flaccid, it was still thick. It was the same dark shade as Portya's lips, and Diego licked his own lips, imagining it in his mouth.

  Portya shifted his weight and Diego began to wipe him clean too, as if he'd never considered cultural differences at all and this would be okay. I'm an idiot.

  As Diego turned his head, tossing the towel aside, Portya said, "I should leave?"

  Diego snapped his head back to meet Portya's yellow gaze. Wishing he could read Portya better, he said, "You don't have to."

  Diego never realized how much he read from a person without ever thinking about it until he stared at Portya with absolutely no idea what the man—alien—was thinking. As the silence grew too long, he said, "I'm sorry. We should have talked. I—"

  "I not know the words in Syncrete to talk about," Portya gestured one hand, palm open, down himself twisting in a graceful curve so his palm ended facing Diego, "but I teach you what Antho…kiss?"

  Diego's confusion must have communicated itself across the cultural barriers. He had no need to speak before Portya continued talking. "We not," his fingers touched lightly on his lips then to Diego's, "but other thing you do—I show you? You tell me words? Then we can talk?"

  Diego blinked as he translated Portya's broken Syncrete. A grin spread across his face when he figured it out. "Please," he said. "Show me."

  Portya demonstrated how Antho used their mouths, and Diego stuttered out the words: "Kiss, lick, suck, bite." Then he showed Portya a few things Humans did using those words, along with "cock, balls, blowjob," and "spunk."

  He did not object when Portya curled his body to Diego's back and fell asleep.

  In the morning, he saw Portya off with a bowl of instant oatmeal and shower. It was only as he opened the daily stores inventories that he realized they still hadn't talked about what had happened, or if it would happen again.

  FIVE

  Diego lingered over his lunch in the cafeteria, hoping to see Portya again. But although he drew out his meal to twice as long as normal, the station administrator never showed.

  He didn't know how to contact Portya without calling him at work, and that seemed inappropriate. He didn't even know where Portya's quarters were, so he couldn't just show up, as Portya had done last night at his rooms.

  Had it been a one-night stand? Had Portya merely been exercising curiosity and now was satisfied? Do I even care?

  Obviously I do care, or I'd not be sitting here wondering.

  He cleared his tray, returned it to the stack. After checking the security on Caravan, Diego, deliberately not thinking about Portya, went to the gymnasium. Not for his vanity but to retain his qualifications for space flight. Maybe a little for his vanity.

  He skipped the gym showers, in case inopportune thoughts of Portya struck him. And it was just after a shower in his quarters when Portya had shown up the day before. Clearly, not thinking about Portya was considerably more difficult than he'd imagined.

  When his communication console advised him of an incoming call with a melodic series of notes, he was still in his towel. "Bahaghari," he said, causing a transparent screen to open and a ghost image of Portya appeared. Diego felt his face flush, as if his thoughts had conjured the administrator. The even ghostlier background revealed Portya was in his office.

  "Captain Bahaghari?"

  A formal call, then. "Yes, Administrator?"

  "You have evening meal with me."

  What?

  "Please," Portya added, perhaps because of Diego's blank stare.

  "Um. Yes."

  Portya nodded his head, crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. "Susserdan? Seven post?"

  Susserdan was an Antho-named upscale restaurant where station residents could spend their scrip. Diego had never been, he had no reason to spend so much on food when he could eat the basics for free at the embassy cafeteria. But he could afford one meal. "Seven post," he confirmed. Beresh had a rotation of twenty-six Human-length hours and the station used a Human-based thirteen hour clock. Seven post meant seven hours after thirteen o'clock, which served as midday and midnight. Not for the first time, Diego thought the Antho were learning more of Humans by being so accommodating than Humans were learning of Antho by accepting the accommodations.

  He checked the time on his digislate. He had four hours to figure out what to wear, and he'd probably need most of the time to do it. His wardrobe hadn't been selected with dating in mind, especially at an expensive restaurant. He eventually settled on a pair of loose, brown trousers and a stretchy knit shirt in pale yellow that clung to his torso.

  Diego checked his hair in the mirror, then considered his face. Should he use eyeliner or not? He had no idea what was considered attractive to Antho in general. Portya seemed to have found him attractive enough without makeup. No makeup.

  He ruffled his dark hair, and partially re-smoothed it.

  Oh, shit, I'm late!

  Diego ran to the pneumolift and shifted impatiently from foot to foot while it took him to the rialto. He drew up sharply in front of the open doorway to the restaurant. Out of my league. He took a deep breath, smoothed his palms over his hips and walked in like Susserdan was a place he went every day.

  "Do you have a reservation?" The hostess desk asked automatically.

  "I'm meeting Administrator Portya." Diego scanned the interior of the restaurant.

  Even as the desk responded, Diego had already spotted Portya. He was almost at the table before Portya saw him, eyes crinkling.

  "Diego." His name was almost a purr in Portya's raspy voice.

  Diego sat down. "Sorry I'm late."

  "Is Human thing to say? Not late. Please," Portya gestured to the holographic menu. "Frustrating for me, having not right word in Syncrete. Much I want to say. Order favourite food. I do too. Then we share. Acceptable?"

  "Acceptable," Diego said with a grin.

  Portya studied Diego with his bright golden eyes. "You sit here," he said,
indicating the chair beside him at the small round table.

  Diego sent a swift glance around the restaurant. Their table was slightly elevated, nestled into the curve of a knee-high wall. Blue feathery plants hung from a matching curved beam overhead, giving the illusion of privacy.

  "Please," Portya added. "Humans tell me I sound like I give orders all the time."

  Diego changed seats. "No, no, I understood you were asking me, not telling me."

  "I forget question inflection. Antho indicate differently."

  "It's fine," Diego repeated, trying for a reassuring smile and not sure it worked. He touched Portya's forearm. "We'll order, yes?"

  "Yes, Diego."

  He wasn't imagining it. Portya's voice definitely dipped into a lower range of sexy rasp when he said Diego's name. A shiver of lust danced along his spine, and he licked his lower lip.

  The menu had no prices listed on it, which was a bad sign. But Diego had been on station six Earth weeks and had spent very little of his pay. Granted, since his necessities were met by the United Earth Government, he wasn't paid a whole lot extra. He could do this. In fact, he was going to right this minute stop thinking about money and order what Portya suggested—something he could share. He scanned the menu, darting glances at Portya.

  Imported steak? Or chicken? Remembering the sort of non-flavour of the pudding-like substance he'd had, he selected a chicken dish, with mashed potatoes and real Earth vegetables. That was probably what made this restaurant so expensive—importing all this food. If Portya really wanted to taste Earth food, though, this was the perfect place to come. He tapped his order and found Portya staring at him.

  "Portya…is this a date?"

  Portya tilted his head slightly to the left. "I not understand 'date' in this context?"

  "When two people," he paused, searching for the right words. "Like each other."

  "Friends?"

  "More than friends." Portya didn't really think what they'd done last night was a thing friends did? Or maybe Antho friends did.

  Portya put his right hand over Diego's, startling him. "I not have words. I go to Syncrete teacher tomorrow. We can learn of each other now, yes. Yes?"

  "Y-yes. Portya—"

  Two Antho he'd not noticed approaching broke into the conversation in their native language, a mix of soft consonants and susurrated vowels running over sandpaper. They were standing by the table and addressing Portya. All Diego caught was something like Portya's name, and a word or phrase that he'd heard before—pesserantha.

  Portya squeezed Diego's hand and answered them with sharp and lofty tones that might have been anger or dismissal or both. Or neither, for that matter. Two pairs of eyes, green and amber, gave Diego pointed looks and then the pair was walking away, hips swaying. Diego did not think the hip sway was meant to be seductive.

  "Sorry."

  Diego squeezed Portya's hand in return. "What's that word, pesserantha? I've heard it a few times around the station." He was careful to keep his tone conversational.

  "It our word for Human. It mean half-person. Half-people."

  "Oh. Why?"

  Portya opened his mouth, closed it again. His pink tongue appeared briefly. "I not have Syncrete words to explain."

  "Is it derogatory?"

  "I not know that word."

  Their food came, delivered on a trolley that ran around the knee walls of the restaurant. Diego took the plates and utensils as Portya placed their drinks. "I wondered if it was used as an insult. Some Humans refer to the Antho as calicoes, which is not a bad word—it means you have three colours of hair—but it is sometimes used as an insult. Tone of voice. It's," he broke off. "It's hard to explain."

  Portya gave him a long, still look before turning his attention to his plate. "This very traditional in my city. Tureepsa mesh." His eyes crinkled. "Food called. Not city."

  It looked like a thick stew, with cubed vegetables and rough-cut chunks of thick-grained meat in a brown gravy. Diego's plate had baby carrots, whole green beans, mashed potato, and a chicken thigh with roasted golden skin. It wasn't the kind of food he grew up eating. "This is representative of Earth food," Diego said, indicating his plate. "But it's not traditional to my city. I will cook for you, some night," he added on impulse.

  Portya studied the food on their plates. "You…will?"

  "Is that like an Antho wedding ceremony or something?" Diego blurted, suddenly panicked at Portya's hesitancy.

  Portya raised his eyes to look at Diego, head cocked slightly to one side. "Wedding. So many words I not know."

  "Um. A ritual that would bind us together." Diego tried to break eye contact and couldn't, though he felt his cheeks heat.

  Reassuring crinkles formed immediately around those compelling, golden eyes. "No. Not 'wedding.' I promise you will know Antho wedding." He squeezed Diego's hand again.

  Diego couldn't help but smile in return. Portya might not be able to say if they were on a date per se, but he certainly wasn't shy in displaying his interest.

  Their conversation—the words they said—were about the food, and Diego listened while an entirely different sort of thing was communicated by their eyes and the touches of their hands.

  Diego couldn't remember settling the bill or how they got to his quarters.

  Being with Portya was so different—Diego lost himself in overwhelming sensations. He kissed Portya like he wanted to consume him or absorb him into himself. They had barely managed to undress before they fell on the bed, grinding into each other in a frantic need for orgasm. Foreplay became afterplay, as he and Portya seemed equally driven to find their initial release as soon as possible.

  "Pheromones," Portya said, when Diego had recovered enough sense to give voice to the powerful sensations that receded with climax.

  "I don't smell anything, other than the way you always smell."

  "Affect you in spite of."

  Diego couldn't think of a better explanation. "The pheromones fade after your first orgasm?"

  Uncertainty rippled through Portya, a whole-body shrug. "I not know. Just administrator."

  Diego considered what he knew about Human biology and nodded slowly. He was just a Fold pilot.

  Portya shifted position on the bed and began to lick down Diego's body with his rough pink tongue. His long hair tickled and teased over Diego's skin, rousing his desire again. His cock somehow began to thicken again, under Portya's attention.

  "P-Portya…" Diego's eyes fluttered closed, and opened wide as one of Portya's slender, beringed fingers pushed into his ass. "Portya!"

  The finger withdrew and Portya stopped licking Diego's cock long enough to ask, "You not like?"

  "I like, but—"

  "You not slippery?"

  "Slippery?"

  Portya rubbed his cheek on Diego's stiff cock before flexing his legs. When they were face to face, dick to dick, Portya caught up Diego's hand and pulled it down, behind his balls.

  It was wet. Well aware of what that hole was for, Diego cautiously shifted to an almost sitting position, as Portya obligingly curled his spine to allow Diego a good look. Even the dim light of his quarters caught like a sparkle in the clear dampness collected on Portya's ass opening. It was swollen, dark rose in colour and the wrinkles looked puffy and soft. He drew his finger across the damp, puckered hole.

  Portya moaned deep in his throat, and rasped out, "Please."

  The smell was familiar in a strangely pleasant way and Diego drew his fingers to his nose. Vanilla? Did the Antho use some fragranced butt deodorizer? He licked one finger tentatively. It was a little like Portya's spunk in flavour, not so salty, definitely vanilla-ish.

  He cautiously pushed a finger inside, encountering a tough ring of resistance before Portya jerked away. "Like this," Portya said, guiding Diego's finger inside, pressing it to the forward wall of the passage. The resistance gave way there, and Portya's body shivered in pleasure.

  Diego's head began to cloud again with the effects of Portya's phe
romones, and he struggled to voice his concern, even as his hand began to stroke his dick in anticipation. "Portya, are you certain? I'm an alien and you're asking me to put a part of my body into yours." He hoped that's what he was asking.

  "Yes-sss," Portya growled, long and slow, hips arching. "Now."

  Diego didn't wait. He guided his cock into the opening, as Portya had shown him. He could feel the tight resistance like a stroke down his erection and he forced himself not to slam home. It was hot, tight as any hole he'd ever fucked, slippery as silicone and different and glorious.

  "More. Harder," Portya demanded, digging his fingers into Diego's hips as if he could pull him deeper inside.

  Diego pumped in and out, all awareness focused below the waist, and the tight, slick channel surrounding him, the soft bounce of Portya's balls against his belly. He braced himself on one arm and took Portya's thick, hard cock in his hand, jerking it in time to his thrusts.

  With as little stimulation as that, Portya came, hips driving upward as spurts of seminal fluid coated both their chests, hot, sticky.

  Whatever difference there was in Portya's ass, the orgasmic muscle clenching was more than familiar enough to bring Diego to his own climax, the taste of Portya in his mouth. Everything seemed to drain out of him, and he collapsed against Portya. He could hear Portya's heart beating fast, feel his chest moving as he fought to catch his breath.

  Diego rolled over, sliding out with a whimper of dismay.

  "Diego." Portya gathered Diego to him, arms strong.

  "I bit you, didn't I?"

  Portya's eyes crinkled. "I leave marks on your…" he patted Diego's hip. "Is fair."

  "I—was I too rough?"