Kensho (Claimings)

by Lyn Gala

  “Yes.” Ondry placed a gentle kiss on Liam’s lips, then the tip of his tail slipped under the waistband of Liam’s sleep pants, flicking and teasing.

  “You are looking to take advantage. Like father, like son.”

  “I am far more skilled.” Ondry rubbed the end of his tail against Liam’s cock. Liam shivered and arched his spine.

  “You are arrogant.”

  “Yes,” Ondry agreed. He drew Liam’s shirt off in one smooth pull. Maybe they were a couple of decades out of practice, but Ondry still had the moves down. Liam ran his hands over Ondry’s muscled form. He was tempted to stroke Ondry’s fora, but that was a pleasure they could share any time. Sex, though. Oh Lord, Liam missed sex. He missed the sweat and the smell and the feeling of Ondry holding him down. Most of all, he missed the raw, insatiable greed in Ondry’s expression when he took control of Liam’s body. Liam’s cock was already hard at the memory.

  Ondry pressed the tip of his tail against Liam’s balls. Lost in the lust, Liam clutched Ondry’s arm and gasped for air. Too fast. Way too fast. He wanted this moment to last forever, or at least until Takil came home, but his body was already rushing toward that perfect white crash of completion. Liam took several breaths to try to get a grain of control.

  He had almost convinced his body to calm when Ondry shifted closer, pinning Liam to the pillows. The delicious feeling of being held left Liam writhing and groping his chilta. Ondry held him firmly and huffed the air near Liam’s neck. “I have missed this scent.” Ondry licked the side of Liam’s neck.

  Liam bucked up, straining against Ondry’s hold. At this rate, Liam’s cock was going to break. Ondry wrapped his tail around Liam’s leg, which left Liam’s cock feeling abandoned.

  “I have missed this,” Liam said. “I need more. Please, Ondry. I can’t wait.” Another time, Liam would have loved to play their slow, teasing games, but right now, he needed Ondry in him. It had been too damn long. Ondry slid his tail higher until it brushed Liam’s balls, teasing. The tip then teased at his hole. Liam spread his legs and squirmed. His body was on fire. He felt like a powder keg of pent up sexual energy, and Ondry had lit the fuse.

  “This scent is addictive,” Ondry whispered. He pressed the tip of his slicked tail against Liam’s hole. Liam held his breath and then Ondry pressed into him. The stretch burned, and Liam dug his heels into the bottom of the nest.

  “Your tail is addictive,” Liam blurted between his gasps.

  “Addictive is pleasant.” Ondry pushed in farther, finding Liam’s prostate and pressing until every last thought fled Liam’s brain, leaving him with a pile of lust-soaked mush between his ears.

  Liam pressed his head back into the pillows. “Oh God. Oh shit, yes. Please. More.”

  Ondry huffed again, the sound of his breath was damn erotic. It meant he was enjoying himself. Hundreds of years, and he was still the same arrogant trader who wanted evidence that he was the best, and when it came to sex, he totally was. Liam was ready to set up a religion centered around Ondry’s sexual prowess and name him the head god—assuming no one else ever got to have sex with him because he was Liam’s. All Liam’s. Forever Liam’s.

  With a happy glurble, Ondry nipped Liam’s shoulder and started a slow thrusting motion with his tail.

  The burn in Liam’s ass grew stronger so that now he was poised on the knife edge of pleasure and pain. His body teetered first in one direction and then the other. Then Ondry wrapped his strong hand around Liam’s cock, and the universe exploded. Liam screamed.

  As he lay next to Ondry, the sweat dried, and Liam shivered. Ondry pulled him close, and the contact made shivers and tingles chase through Liam’s body. He felt alive and wrung-out at once. He never wanted to sleep again, but he didn’t want to move either. Damn. Had sex always been that good or had the years of abstinence made it sweeter?

  Ondry licked the side of Liam’s neck.

  “Don’t start something you don’t plan to finish,” Liam warned. He would warn Ondry that he couldn’t come again, but that would sound too much like a challenge, and Liam was sore. He hadn’t used some of those muscles for too long.

  “I could finish again,” Ondry said with a rumble.

  “Show-off.”

  “Is that an observation or a request?” Ondry tightened his arms, holding Liam in a tight embrace.

  “Observation.”

  “An accurate one. You are a tuk-ranked observer.”

  Liam laughed. “And you are a tuk-ranked non-procreative sex god.”

  Ondry trilled. “I have never before been called a deity.”

  “That was an oversight on my part because you are one,” Liam said sleepily. He felt so damn sated. Maybe Liam was stressed about Takil growing up too fast, but if their youngling was ready to move away from his parents, life wouldn’t end. It would change, but a few hundred years with Ondry had taught him that sometimes change was good. Sometimes it was very, very good.

  Like Father, Like Son

  He watched the various submissives flit about the club, their bodies, dueling with the club’s strobing lights. When he had first come to this gathering place of sexual exploration, the exhibition of bodies and the number of humans who’d expressed an interest in his tail had surprised him. He had no problem using his tail for pleasure. What was the point of having a body, if not to enjoy its various functions? However, the variety of human pleasure had startled him.

  The submissives startled him more.

  The books that equated palteia with submissive had been written by someone with a flawed understanding of either human or Rownt nature. Perhaps others were not as nuanced in their understanding as he was. After all, he had an uncommon ability to grasp the nuances of at least two Earth languages, and various regional dialects of Rownt. He was grateful that Rownt and their languages changed more slowly. If Rownt had the same diversity of speech as humans did, he was not sure how they would ever cooperate as a planet. Perhaps that was why humans were so fractious.

  Too many Rownt accepted human tendencies toward violence as normal. They saw only angry little aliens when they saw the paler humans and odd little aliens when looking at the darker ones. However, Takil knew humans were more likely to relinquish what they wanted in favor of helping another’s needs than any Rownt. He hoped to write a missive on the human concept of charity.

  But that was a topic for another day.

  Today, he was far more interested in a palteia. And he was not fool enough to confuse palteia and submissive. Those two concepts were as alike as a kawt and bulfa fruit.

  A human separated from the mass of dancers. Given the amount of skin showing and the pattern of leather adornments, this was a submissive. The visible line of muscle in his limbs and the symmetrical nature of his features indicated attractiveness from a human perspective and his darker skin made him appear calmer to Rownt eyes. The submissive approached him and quickly slid to his knees.

  This was a custom unique to human submissives. Other Rownt suffered serious damage to their reputations when they had assumed that such a gesture implied a palteia in need, begging for protection. Takil had learned that a submissive who did this was less likely to be begging than he was to be seeking to advance his own end. And that end was would include Takil’s tail. But today he had other concerns. He did not wish to play the part of the chilta for an hour or two because that was a child’s game, and he was no child. The silence grew annoying.

  “What do you require?” Takil asked.

  The submissive kept his gaze focused on Takil’s knees, or perhaps it was more accurate to say in the general direction of his tail. “I would serve you.”

  “No.” This was no palteia, but Takil still felt that niggle of unhappiness at causing pain to one who was on his knees. Human submissives were very dangerous in their ability to gain the outcome they sought. He would not underestimate this one or allow the posture to distract him from his profit.

  “If I am not pleasing...” The submissive allowed the w
ords to trail off, and he sank a little lower. Either he was suffering the loss of status that failure inevitably led to or he sought to manipulate Takil’s emotions. Takil weighed his words. He had a child’s need to strike out at someone annoying him, but he gave his donation to the temple. He was ye-rank, and he would not disgrace his rank by reacting as a child.

  Despite his own discomfort at complimenting another, Takil said, “You are remarkably pleasing, and I suspect enough men have said that to you that your ego has no need for my attention. And since I am here for business that does not involve you, seek other prey.” It was not phrased as a human might, but there was a limit to Takil’s maturity. He would not be more polite than that to another adult who interfered with his trade.

  The submissive kept his head tilted to the side as he studied Takil’s face. After a second, he stood gracefully, his body angled away as he scanned the crowd. No doubt he would find someone else to play chilta for the evening. Takil had enjoyed that game himself many times, but play-acting was for children and ye-dalit. Takil was neither.

  As the submissive abandoned his chase, Takil turned his attention to the server who provided alcoholic drinks to those gathered at his station. Amryi. Between serving those who sought refreshments, Amryi also watched Takil.

  Amryi showed signs of age that even Takil’s human father did not after hundreds of years. Amryi’s hair was mottled with white and when he frowned, his skin lacked the elasticity to move freely, creating folds in the dark skin that reminded Takil of a Grandmother.

  Amryi had seen Takil entertain submissives, but that had been years ago. Since Takil had returned to Earth, he had earned his first title. But Amryi was not Rownt. He had not seen how servers on the Calti would now bring him meat. He did not understand that Takil had moved out of the common rooms of those without titles and into a room of his own.

  Takil wondered if Amryi formed theories to explain Takil’s change. He returned to serving those at his station, and Takil watched the dancing humans with very little interest . After reading stories that had speculated on the relations between his parents, Takil had experimented with a variety of pleasures.

  Those had all resulted in human gratification, but Takil had ranged from bored to uncomfortable. Some of the acts were unpleasant enough that Takil could not imagine Ondry performing them, although he would if Liam enjoyed them. However, Liam would never enjoy something that displeased Ondry, and no chilta could keep a secret from his palteia.

  Takil had decided that human speculation was incorrect if not anatomically impossible. He had also found that most human submissives were deaf and blind to the pleasure of the dominant. The few true palteia Takil had found already had chilta. Either they were curious about Takil’s ability to give pleasure and a chilta approached Takil, asking for assistance in helping provide pleasure or the palteia hoped to please his or her chilta by performing with Takil.

  Those pairings were far more pleasurable. Making a true palteia happy gave Takil satisfaction, even if he did have to watch the palteia he pleased leave with another. But those encounters were rare, and Takil had stopped coming to this club for many years. A public announcement of the death of the owner had brought him back.

  As time passed, the music grew softer. Many patrons took that as a signal to leave. The floor grew less populated, and the lights grew harsher. Few people at tables remained, and Amryi left his serving station to visit each table.

  Amryi gave Takil an incomplete smile as he approached the table. Only the corners of his mouth moved. “We are closing soon.”

  “I will wait until everyone else has left,” Takil said. He was not surprised that Amryi did not challenge him. He moved to the next table to ask those individuals to leave. The others wandered out and Amryi turned the lights on so they glared off the worn floor and showed the frayed edges of the seat fabric. Takil waited. No doubt Amryi had work to complete, and Takil would not disturb him.

  It must have been an hour before Amryi appeared again. He took off the white fabric intended to protect his clothing and left it on the bar before he approached. He stopped at the table and studied Takil.

  Silence.

  Takil tilted his head. Since Amryi was higher ranked, it was polite to allow him to start, but he continued to stare until Takil was unable to ignore his own discomfort. “Qii has died,” Takil said.

  Amryi sucked in a quick breath. “That was rather blunt.”

  Blunt. Ironically, that was a synonym for harsh or hard or sharp. Takil warmed in embarrassment. He had not meant to cause distress. “The death was published,” he said. He could not pretend to not know about a public event.

  “It’s called an obituary, and yes, Qii did pass. My brother would be very surprised to know you noticed him. Complimented, but surprised.”

  Again, the silence grew uncomfortable. Takil had not imagined this awkwardness. Again, he tried to fill the awkward silence with simple fact. “He was chilta.”

  “He... what? No. He wasn’t into sexual games.”

  Takil began to doubt his own eyes. He had come to this club for years, and he had seen Qii and Amryi. He had seen how they worked together and cared for each other. “He loved you.”

  “He was my brother. I don’t know what Rownt get up to, but trust me, there was nothing sexual there. He had a wife and children.”

  Takil began to see the shape of the misunderstanding. Humans did tend to assume sexual connection where none existed. “Chilta is not sexual, but a Rownt would not serve as chilta for one genetically related.” The blood-relationship between Qii and Amryi complicated the issue. Takil had no idea how it might affect a palteia to never change allegiance—to go from the nest to a titled adult with the same person at his side. His heart ached for Amryi.

  “But I thought a chilta was a dominant. That’s what the books say.” Amryi rested his hand on the chair opposite Takil and leaned forward.

  “A chilta is one who cares for another.”

  “Like a parent? No fucking way did you imply I’m a child.” Amryi crossed his arms over his chest. The gesture was familiar, but Takil only saw it when his Liam was angry.

  Takil held his hands out with the palms up. “I am communicating poorly.” And he was showing his lack of experience so badly that he was pale enough to embarrass himself if any Rownt were to see him. “You are not a child just as the human who raised me is not a child. But Liam is a palteia. Ondry is a chilta.”

  “Wait. You’re Liam’s son? Liam Munson? The Liam Munson? Holy fucking shit. We’ve had a celebrity in the bar. Qii would have given his left nut to put that on his flyers.” Amryi smiled, but the expression faded quickly. No doubt the loss of his chilta pained him still. Takil dreaded the day when one of his parents died because he knew the other would be inconsolable. Some said that the gods could not separate a true chilta and palteia and one would follow the other into death rather than live without the other. Takil feared that, but his parents had hundreds of years left.

  “I’ve had a long damn day, and I don’t understand this conversation. Can you say what you have to say so I can go home?” The life appeared to drain from Amryi’s frame.

  Takil’s heart ached for Amryi. He feared this palteia had found no one to serve. When Takil had first come to this club, Qii had welcomed him, but Amryi had guided him. He had smoothed the way for Takil to meet submissives and had laughed when Takil had made childish mistakes. When Takil missed his parents more than a Rownt with a title should miss the nest in which he had been raised, Amryi had felt familiar. He had reminded Takil of his Liam.

  “I wish to know you have a chilta to see that you are protected. I wish to know you do not suffer.”

  Amryi stared at him for a long time. “What?”

  “I am concerned that you are well.”

  This time the silence was longer. Amryi eventually sank into the seat across from Takil. “Seriously? That’s why you’re here?”

  “Yes.”

  “To check on me?”

>   “Yes.”

  “Why do you care?”

  Takil paused. The answer was so obvious that he should not have to say the words, but the question suggested he did. Humans were confusing, even for one raised by a human. “Because you are palteia,” Takil said.

  Amryi blinked faster. Takil had no idea what emotion that might indicate, but the gesture was pronounced enough that it must have some meaning. Takil would have to ask his Liam what it meant. Another might feel embarrassment at asking a parent for information, but Takil would be a fool to ignore the resource available to him. And if he enjoyed having a meal with his parents more than most titled adults, that reflected on them, not on his status.

  Eventually Amryi rubbed his hand over his face. Takil knew what that meant. Liam often did that when Takil acted foolishly. He had once disassembled the water filtration system in their bathing chamber to see how it worked, and his actions had necessitated stopping the ship to effect repairs. Liam had rubbed his face often that day.

  “Humans care for all people equally,” Takil said, although he knew this was a Rownt generality which did not apply to individuals. “Rownt care for palteia and largely dismiss the needs of all others,” he explained.

  Amryi laughed, the sound crisp and cold. “Qii did approve of the Rownt streak of mercenary. He was happy when Rownt came back to Earth because he said that any species smart enough to try to cheat his neighbor honestly was a species that could be trusted.”

  “Qii was wise,” Takil said, although compliments did not sit well in his mouth. At least Qii was not alive to hear and take offense at a ye-ranked youngling daring to offer those words. Takil suspected Qii had been the equivalent of ka-ranked, so he would have every right to take offense. Amryi had a right to take offense in Qii’s name, but his wrinkles deepened and he took in another sharp breath. Distress. He was feeling distress. The pain made Takil wish to fight, but one could not fight death, not even to return a chilta to a palteia.

  “I don’t know why you believe you have to worry about me, but I’m fine. I’m not one of these palteia you think you have to worry about.”