I snorted and pulled away, before leaning in and kissing him again.And then I reallydidleave, and I pretended that I couldn't feel the weight of his stare on me as I left his room and headed one door over to my own.
I was walking on clouds, and that should have been impossible.How was I able to feel so bright and lit up when I was staring down the gauntlet of my own awful fate?But I also couldn't bring myself to taint what I was feeling with, you know,reality, so I decided to pretend that this little sojourn would never end.I'd just live inside of these next few days forever, and I'd get to kiss Araxis and fuck him, and he'd hold me and murmur the sweetest words against my skin, and we could fall asleep together and fool around in the shower as much as we wanted.
God, I liked him.I knew it even then; it was like my internal organs were rearranging themselves in order to make room for him, like my entire body was remaking itself.I didn't recognize what I was feeling; it was strange and invigorating andexpansive.I felt wonderfully, wonderfully alive.I didn't think I'd ever felt so alive.
I spent some time in my room, unpacking my bag after more than a week on the ship like I wasn't going to be repacking it soon, largely for something to do and because it was a nice way to continue to live inside this fantasy.Sure, might as well settle in.Make myself at home, like Araxis had said.I pulled out a sheet of paper from my journal and tried to remember how to make it into a crane.If I'd been connected to the datasphere, I could have looked it up, but instead I gave up and smoothed it out as best I could.I dug out the pink and black striped sweater and foldedthatcarefully and precisely, tuckinga little note inside of the collar, written on the crease-softened paper.A trade is a trade.I hope this makes you think of me.From Sashen (who doesn't snore!)
I waffled a bit before adding a squiggled heart.And then, realizing that it wouldn't translate, I scribbled down another line of text.This is a stylized depiction of a human heart; our hearts don't look anything like this, so I don't know why this is the symbolic stand-in.Hearts represent feelings for us, so this means 'affectionately' or something like that.
I slipped next door and set the sweater and note on Araxis's bed before I could change my mind.He was gone already, his voice echoing down the hall from the helm, so I made my way downstairs.I stopped in to grab my breakfast soup – as always, the second level was eerily silent and entirely empty – and poked around the kitchen stores a bit more while waiting for the water to boil.
Should I make something for Araxis?No, that was stupid.I didn't know how to cook.What would I give him, a couple packets of crackers and some of his own soup?Maybe I could learn one day, though.
But there wasn't going tobea one day, was there?I had… what, two weeks now before I was shoved on to the arena sands?Two weeks until some other competitor killed me violently and spectacularly on galactic broadcast.
Fuck.Fuck.The realization hit me with the cataclysmic force of a comet, and all at once, I was reeling.
I would never learn to cook.I'd never see anywhere else.This wasit.I'd leave this ship and go on broadcast, and then I'd be done.
I didn't want to think about that.I couldn't think about that.Instead, I grabbed every scrap of panic surging upwards in my body, all the acid-sharp adrenaline rushing through me, and I shoved it forcibly into that box that then went into the dark, awful corner of my soul that I never looked at.It didn't do me any good to be upset about the real world now.
It didn't do anyone any good.
I forced myself to stand in the kitchen, drinking my soup – which tasted like nothing at all now, all my senses lost to the lingering aftereffects of that star-bright panic.I focused on my breathing so that, when I left the dining room and headed downstairs, I didn't feel like I was going to hyperventilate and then vomit and then cry.
I helped myself to the practice blades this time, setting my own against the wall and throwing myself into a challenging combination of sequences.This time, I worried less about making them pretty and a little more about what it would be like to do theseatsomeone with the intention of hitting them.How hard would I have to swing?How much force would I need to cut through skin and into bone?What would it take to cutthroughbone?Most of the movements were sweeping arcs, graceful; could I use the swords to stab someone?How did you get into a rib cage?Some species didn't evenhavethem, and where were the vital organs on every Primus species?Suddenly, my intimate knowledge of where to find genitals and erogenous zones seem pretty fucking useless.Although I was pretty sure I'd at least startle any opponents if I cut their dick or ovipositor off.
I pulled the sequence up short, panting, and wheezed out a laugh.Even to my own ears, which were pounding with my heartbeat, it sounded desperate, unsteady.
Sure, I'd just focus on stabbing people in the sexy bits.Honestly, it was my best strategy yet, but given that I hadn't taken any time to actually make a fucking plan in the faint hope of surviving, that was the lowest possible bar.
The door to the training room opened, and I glanced as Araxis walked in.In an instant, I could see something was off: the line of his shoulders was tight, his skin matte white without any of the iridescence I expected when he was in a good mood.
I forcibly shoved away any thoughts of what was next forme, and I turned instead to him.My chest was heaving from the hard and fast sequences, and maybe from the frantic way I'd been running through the familiar movements.I swiped at my forehead, pushing my damp curls from my skin."Are you alright?"
"Yes," he said, tone flat; there was an irritated subvocal humming beneath the word.
I chewed on my lip, watching him as he paced to the far corner of the room, where the heavy bag was hanging from the ceiling.I'd used a punching bag once when I had ambitions of being a pit fighter on the side to make a few more credits.It hadn't gone particularly well – I hadn't made it through the first warm-up bout – and I'd had to visit the shady medical clinic three neighbourhoods over to fix my broken nose and get my teeth fixed.I shifted from the centre of the room, going to place the blades against the wall.
Araxis twisted the bag, some mechanism overhead unlocking so that the hook could move on a track on the metal and girder ceiling.
When he said nothing, I knew I had to try and get him back on even footing so that we could enjoy the remainder of our time together.He didn't know about the ticking clock, but I sure as hell did.I pitched my voice just right, bright and easy and warm, which almost always worked when I needed it to."Are you sure you're alright?Because when I left you, you were in a pretty good mood, so either someone has gone and ruined a perfectly good afterglow or I've accidentally done something to insult you, your creche, and every one of your ancestors.Was it the sweater?"
His black stare flicked over to me."What sweater."
Oh, hewasmad.It was bad when the questions weren't questions; I'd learned that alongtime ago with Alet Trident."Oh, well," I swiped at my hair some more, my fingers getting tangled in some curls that had dried funny."You said we were trading, so I know I owe you that pink and black monstrosity.I put it on your bed."Did I make a joke about he could cuddle up with it while he jerked off, thinking of me?It didn't seem like the time.
Araxis stared at me for a moment, head tilting, and then he exhaled, the lines of his face softening."My apologies, Sashen.It is the former, not the latter: Vivith came to speak with me and they wereparticularlyunhelpful this morning."He finished moving the bag to the centre of the room, muttering something sharp under his breath in abayan.
Another tally for the 'anti-Vivith' column, which was a breakaway winner compared to the 'pro-' and 'neutral-on-' columns.
I wandered over as Araxis manoeuvred the bag into place, a click sounding overhead as it locked into position.His back was to me, shoulders still tight, braid a bit mussed and imperfect from last night and, presumably, from our time in the shower this morning.
"Can I touch you?"I asked.He half-turned to study me, eyes narrowing with confusion, but he nodded anyway.At once, I reached for him and folded him into a hug, tucking my arms around him and pulling him hard against my chest.I let my head drop to his shoulder, nestling there against his skin and inhaling deeply; the smell of smoke and spice filled my lungs, and I breathed against him, deep and even.
For a long moment, his hands were still by his side, but then his arms shifted.His palms settled on my waist, fingers digging in.
"Sorry you had a difficult morning," I murmured against his skin, stroking gently with my fingers.Arumblefromdeep in his chestbuzzed against my skin,and the tension in his body drained away, leaving him lax and pliant against me.His weight leaned on me a little more fully, and I wondered if he could feel the way my lips curved into a smile against his skin.
