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“You require multiple reinforcements to retain information,” Retel had told him. “I believe music comes easily to you because you have the faculties of touch through playing, speech through singing, hearing it, and seeing the notes. Learning the layout of a place, on the other hand, is strictly a matter of familiarizing yourself with a route. Reading only employs sight, unless you read out loud, which might help your retention when you hear it as well.”
The schools he’d attended had asked to test him for an intellectual disability, but his father had refused to allow it. “There’s nothing lacking in him. He just needs to learn to apply himself,” had been his verdict.
Matt had spent a couple of days contemplating what the psychiatrist and his Earther psychology liaison had told him. He’d found comfort in Dr. Sanderson’s assurances his traumatic experiences weren’t so rare. The doctor was also a gay man who’d found love and joined a clan. He identified with the anxieties of being exposed, even in Kalquorian society.
“My reaction and background are just a little extreme,” Matt murmured to himself, striking a lonely-sounding chord.
He was distracted by the note and built a riff around it, forgetting for a few moments the tune he’d been working on. He remembered after a few minutes and smiled sadly. Attention deficit. A lot of angst might have been avoided in his early years had his schools been allowed to build a curriculum to attend his particular learning needs.
He glanced at the small recorder on his belt, catching the song he worked on and the twaddles occasionally interrupting it. He moved the latest interruption to a separate file, played the song he was determined to finish, and picked up where he’d left off.
Music room. Sitting room. His attention went to the computer, displaying Casual Innuendo’s promotional site. Irene Jonson and the three men of her band, her clanmates, posed behind a list of concert dates. They’d be playing a trio of shows in the capital city’s stadium later in the month. Matt wanted to go. He planned to ask Dr. Retel if the anti-anxiety medication he was taking would stabilize him enough to do so. The tickets for the first two shows had sold out, and the third only had a handful of spaces left. If he and the clan were to attend, they’d have to buy passes soon.
At the moment, the thought of attending the concert brought incredible dread, but Retel had told him the meds would take a week to kick in. The idea he’d be able to manage a public outing in a large crowd was incredible.
He’d drifted again, and Matt had no idea what he’d been playing. He huffed and listened, sent the twaddle to its own file, and started on his song again. He walked into the music room.
What he was working on should have violin parts, he thought, eyeing the instrument nestled in a case on the shelf. Full orchestral backing would be amazing. His strength was in stringed instruments, but there were programs to help him compose what he had for percussion, brass, and woodwinds. He wondered if the programs were expensive. Avir or Masok would buy him whatever he wished in a heartbeat, no doubt the priciest composing package available. Why did they care so much about him? He was a mess, and they kept telling him how wonderful he was. Kom too, and he’d witnessed Matt at his worst. Why did they ignore his shortcomings?
Speaking of ignoring, outside of therapy, he’d spent two days in his suite. He’d emerged for meals and to play video games a couple of hours with the guys, but he’d mostly drawn apart to contemplate his mental state, compose, and twaddle. His would-be clanmates said they didn’t mind. “Take the time you need to consider what you’ve learned from therapy. We’ll be here when you want us,” Avir had reassured him.
He hadn’t seen them since lunch, and dinner hour was approaching. They must think he was avoiding them. Feeling guilty for being so wrapped up in himself, he placed the Martin on its hangar and switched off the recorder, leaving it on a shelf.
He navigated the corridor to the common room. At least he’d learned the path there. Unfortunately, the clan wasn’t in the room. He paused, wondering where he might find them. He knew where Kom’s suite was, just a door from his. Masok’s wasn’t far off; he’d stumble across it if he tried. Avir’s…where was Avir’s suite? It had to be close to the rest.
Or they could be in the kitchen, deciding on dinner. Matt decided to try there next.
His route took him past the sleeping room. Since that was nearly all they did in there, he hadn’t considered checking it. He wandered by the open door and heard noises inside.
Matt stopped and stared. The clan was in the room. On the huge sleeping mat. Having sex.
Avir sat at the head of the mat, his back against the headboard. His legs were spread wide. Masok crouched between them, his head moving up and down, back and forth between Avir’s engorged cocks. The Dramok watched, his lips wet as his clanmate eagerly fellated him.
Kom knelt behind Masok, feeding the Imdiko’s ass his thick length. Kom’s hands held the other man’s cheeks apart, watching intently as his primary disappeared and reappeared.
Matt gaped at the scene of three muscled, gorgeous males fucking. Sighs and moans filled the air, joined by sounds of wet movement and flesh meeting flesh.
Heated excitement filled his cock. He’d had sexual intercourse during high school and the few months he’d attended college. Thrilling discovery had been undertaken in the form of anxious, inexperienced fumblings. A few months ago, on the transport, he’d spotted a Kalquorian man and Earther woman in what had apparently been an impromptu encounter in a ship’s kitchen. But this, a clan of three men who’d been together for decades, was a lesson in practiced intimacy. They were aroused and eager, but there was a sense of comfort and familiarity. No hesitation, no timidity, no confusion. It was beautiful, almost choreographed perfection, and Matt ached because he had no such experience.
Kom tossed his hair aside, and as he did, his face turned in Matt’s direction. Their gazes met.
Matt retreated. He fled to his suite. He’d been caught spying on a private moment, and shame burned his face…but he was thrilled at what he’d witnessed. He wished Kom hadn’t noticed him, that he’d been able to watch those amazing bodies make love to the end.
He entered the music room and paced as he replayed the enthralling scene. He grabbed the Martin and his fingers twitched over it, a background song of yearning to enhance the erotic vision of Avir, clan leader, as regal as a king as he’d reclined under Masok’s attentions. Masok, trim and graceful, the link between his clanmates, offering himself for their pleasure. Kom, the scarred and strong warrior, delighting in the gift of his Imdiko’s yielding.
Lost in the delicious loop of lust playing in his brain, Matt had no idea how much time had passed when someone cleared his throat from the doorway. He jerked and blinked at Kom.
Chapter Seven
The Nobek wore an amused smirk as he leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. “Hello.”
Matt’s cheeks flamed. As usual, Kom was naked. It made his embarrassment worse, because of what he’d last seen him doing. The Nobek wasn’t soft either, though his cocks weren’t at full erection.
Matt stammered, “Hi. Um. I was walking by and saw you guys. I didn’t mean to spy, but…well. I guess I did spy. I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” Kom never got angry with Matt, which was a blessing, because Matt thought he gave him plenty to be angry about.
Matt realized he’d asked him a question and was waiting for an answer. What had the question been? He couldn’t get the image of Kom fucking Masok out of his skull, which made it impossible to remember.
