Triptych

by J. M. Frey

  They eat, and Gwen avoids the fish and alcohol for the sake of the child growing within her, and Kalp makes the expression of pleading to be allowed to touch her soft round stomach again, now that he knows what the thrilling flutter had been last month.

  Kalp can hear the baby with his fingertips — the small pattering heart is strong and steady, and he tells her so. Gwen’s eyelashes dot with moisture and she is very pleased to hear it.

  Basil scrubs a hand through his hair, and shoots to his feet. “Come dance with me, Mummy.” He extends a hand to Gwen, “I’m antsy.”

  Gwen graciously accepts his hand, uses it to pull herself to her feet, and follows him onto the dance floor. There are several other couples out there, holding each other close and swaying artfully to the rhythm of the music. Some are made up of same gendered humans, some of opposite genders. It is beautiful and surreal and heart-wrenching.

  To Kalp, they all look incomplete. Torn apart.

  They only dance in twos and it looks wrong.

  Only widows dance as couples.

  Kalp can see the pain he feels reflected in the expressions of his people all over the room. Even Derx’s ears are pulled back against his head, a sure sign of distress. This is simply something with which they cannot cope. Kalp’s eyes get hot in sorrow. It reminds him too much of all the death that they have had to endure, and he knows the same reminder is in the minds of everyone else.

  Seeing Basil and Gwen, smiles wide and faces shining, as just two, hurts Kalp deep down in the same place it had hurt him when he lost Maru and Trus. He feels like he is dead, like he is the one who ought to be absent, like he is the one who was killed on his home world and not his other Unit. He feels invisible; like a ghost.

  Kalp waits for someone, anyone to take the floor and complete any of the pairs, but no one moves, either out of distress or out of fear of offending the humans.

  Offending them.

  Stuff and nonsense, Kalp thinks, and the words echo in his head in Gwen’s voice. They are here to be Integrated, yes, but they are also here to live their lives and retain their own culture, and if the humans have an issue with a proper three person Unit, then they have no business working at the Institute.

  Kalp stands, and all the eyes and ears of his people swivel in his direction. Derx makes a gesture that demands Kalp return to his seat, but Kalp commits the horrid sin of ignoring the Higher Status and walks across the dance floor. He comes up beside Gwen and Basil, and they step apart from each other. “Wanna take the happy mummy for a spin?” Basil asks, offering Gwen’s hand to Kalp.

  “No,” Kalp says, firmly.

  Basil frowns, his normal crooked expression of puzzlement endearing. “Wanna take me?”

  Kalp doubts that Basil is aware of the innuendo that peppers his question, so answers it on the non-sexual level. “No,” he says, though he would gladly say the opposite in another, more private setting.

  Gwen’s eyes narrow, and Kalp thinks she understands immediately what Kalp is about to do.

  Kalp leans down and rubs his cheek — and the scent pouch behind his jaw hinge — first along Basil’s neck, then Gwen’s. Gwen gasps and lifts her hand to the quickly drying wet patch of scent chemical. She knows what this means. Basil does not. Derx’s ears shoot upwards, and he is furious, and it makes Kalp cruelly content to feel Derx’s extreme displeasure. Agent Aitken gets up from the table and departs.

  “Did you just — ?” Gwen asks. But she does not finish her sentence. Kalp suspects it is because she fears his answer.

  “Just dance with me,” Kalp says. “Just dance, for now.”

  “For now,” Gwen agrees, nodding once. Her tone and expression says that there will be conversation later. A long, long conversation, possibly filled with shouting. Kalp will do everything he can to make sure her agitation does not harm the child. Her body vibrates anger.

  “What just happened?” Basil asks, accepting Kalp’s hand on his shoulder, guiding him in a slow circle in a parody of the sort of dance that is used to announce a new Aglunated Unit. Basil leans into the warmth of Kalp’s body so naturally, Kalp wonders if he knows his posture has betrayed his feelings.

  All over the room, Kalp’s people’s ears jump up and they whistle shrilly between their teeth in congratulations. Kalp just hopes that this “stunt” works out as well as the last one.

  ***

  They depart after two more dances. One is with just Basil, who is flushed and nervous, his palms secreting copiously; he finally realizes what has happened and seems torn between mortification, fury, and interest. The other is with just Gwen, who performs the motions of the ritual dance out of respect for Kalp’s people’s traditions, and the many many eyes of the rapt spectators around them, but says nothing.

  The car ride home is tense and silent, but this time Kalp does not allow his nervousness to consume him. The car pulls to a juttering halt in the drive. Gwen slams into the house, stomping up the stairs to her bedroom. Kalp can hear her stripping off her fancy dress and putting on her house clothing. Basil sits down in the dining area, undoing his tie and the top two buttons of his expensive shirt in a daze.

  Kalp suspects that Basil must be rather shocked — to find out that he is to be a father in one evening is quite excitement enough, but to then also be informed that Kalp has what essentially amounts to proposed marriage to both him and Gwen, in public no less…it must be very hard to process.

  Kalp undoes his own tie, glad to be rid of the mild choking sensation of the garment, and goes into the kitchen to put on the kettle. Basil’s ears catch the familiar sounds of Kalp’s motions and he lifts his voice and says, “No, no, something stronger.”

  Kalp returns to the dining area with two glasses of Basil’s whiskey and one glass of water for Gwen — if she should deign to descend the stairs and join them. He and Basil sip at the whiskey in thoughtful silence, and Kalp fancies he can actually hear Basil’s mind thinking very quickly, and very hard. Why us? is practically written across the human’s forehead.

  After a long, long time, Gwen finally comes down the stairs. She is breathing calmly and her heart rate has returned to normal. Basil and Kalp are each on their third glassful.

  “Why didn’t you say something?” she asks. They are the first words anyone has spoken in hours.

  Kalp lifts and drops his shoulders, a gesture he has learned means that one is unsure of how to answer. He adds, “I have tried for many months to convey my affection.”

  Gwen touches the back of her neck, guiltily. Basil touches his cheek. They both catch each other’s movements, and flush.

  “It is not cheating,” Kalp says hastily. He has seen many a film on Earth whose protagonist goes through emotional torment because he or she has added a third, either intentionally or not, into the romantic relationship. Humans seem extremely concerned about proprietary rights over each other’s bodies and pleasure, and Kalp strives to assure them that it is still a monogamous relationship, simply with one extra person added. “It does not make you gay, either,” he directs to Basil. There are an inordinate amount of films about that, too.

  “But why us?” Basil asks. “I mean, why me? Why Gwen?”

  “You have been kind to me,” Kalp says simply. To him, it is that simple, but humans always look for more answers, more reasons, more excuses and explanations. “I enjoy your company.”

  “But we were just being nice,” Basil insists, but it is phrased as a question. Kalp knew he would ask it. “It was just the…the right thing to do.”

  Kalp takes breath to speak but Gwen beats him to it.

  “But that’s it, isn’t it?” she says. “The fact that we were just…nice. Nobody was being nice to you, were they?”

  Kalp droops his ears a bit. “Yes,” he admits. “At first it was…blind affection. But I see how happy you make each other and I would like to be made that happy. To make you that happy. I enjoy your company and you enjoy mine. We work well together and we care for each other
. I am aroused by your physical shapes. Why should we not become an Aglunated Unit?”

  “You’ve got a dick, for one!” Basil spits, but looks immediately contrite at his inability to control the disconnect between his mouth and brain.

  “Technically speaking,” Kalp chides softly, unhurt by Basil’s drunken outburst, “I am not male. Nor am I technically female, by your standards. Our procreation process is far more complicated, which is why we are biologically incompatible with humans.”

  Basil looks confused again. “Well, then how can we — ?”

  “Biologically,” Kalp repeats, “But not sexually. I have read pornography — more than one, now,” he adds hastily, anticipating a repetition of Basil’s previous comment. “I am aware of how to pleasure a human body. And I can easily teach you mine.”

  Basil looks faintly green.

  Gwen’s mouth is a thin line.

  Kalp does not let that deter him. He is confident. All he has to do is convince them, and they will see the logic of the arrangement. They will see how hard he adores them. They will be able to overcome the strangeness of his body, his genitalia, and learn to find it appealing, just as he has for them. They will learn to…to care for him deeply, as he has, to care beyond what pleasure the body can offer and to the pleasures that comfort and company can give.

  “What if we don’t want to?” Gwen asks, and the words are like a stinging slap across Kalp’s face. “Have you considered that?”

  Kalp takes a deep breath. He must stay calm. He must be rational and explain or there will be no chance. “I…have,” he admits. “But I desperately hope that you hold the same affection for me as I do for you.”

  Basil and Gwen exchange a glance, filled with meaning that Kalp has always wished he could decode. He thinks perhaps he is getting closer to understanding.

  “Just try,” Kalp pleads, and he is surprised at how fraught his own voice sounds. “Please let me show you how much your generosity and acceptance has meant to me.”

  “This isn’t payback,” Gwen states, lifting a finger, and it is not a question. “You’re not going to do this because you feel obligated to.”

  Kalp cannot help but tug his ear and make the self-depreciating chuckle sound. “I first thought it was.”

  “Come again?” Basil asks, reaching again for the whiskey bottle.

  If they do have intercourse tonight, which is Kalp’s favoured outcome of this discussion but the least statistically likely, he hopes that the alcohol does not impede Basil’s ability to attain an erection. The whiskey may have instead the positive effect of loosening his inhibitions, though, so Kalp does not stop him.

  “When they first placed me on your team, and you invited me into your home — I thought we had been made a Unit for the sake of…Integration.” He shakes his head ruefully at his own naiveté. “I realized, of course, that we were not, but the hope remained that you would accept me.”

  “But why threes?” Basil asks. “I mean, if it still only takes two to tango…”

  “Mostly, it is for the sake of the parent who gives birth to the offspring,” Kalp says, turning his eyes to Gwen. “One leaves the home to earn a wage, one remains to care for the birth parent and the offspring, and one gives birth and recovers. Sometimes, though rarely, more than one parent is pregnant or has a small child simultaneously.”

  Another meaning-filled glance passes between Gwen and Basil.

  At the end of it, Basil shrugs and Gwen echoes it.

  “Okay,” Gwen says. “Okay — we’ll try it. Just…just try it. But, but if we don’t think it’s working…”

  “I understand,” Kalp says, and has to refrain from leaping up from his chair and yelling in joy. “I can transfer teams, I can move…if I must.” He lowers his head and looks up, through the lowered whiskers of his eyes, at Basil’s cheeks, noting the spotted red that surges to the surface at the coy invitation. Kalp has learned that expression, that mode of tilting his head and gazing just so, from one of the other pornographies, and he is pleased to see that it is an effective signal, even on his face. “What…what would you like to do first?” Already he can feel his genitalia sliding into the cool air of the dining room in happy anticipation.

  “Dunno,” Basil mutters. “Only been in a threesome once.”

  Gwen smacks his arm and the easy familiarity of the gesture breaks the uncomfortable tension of the conversation. Basil stands carefully, with the deliberate motions of a man trying very hard to be more sober than he really is. He walks over to Kalp’s side, and looks down at him.

  “Oh, fuck it,” Basil says.

  He grabs Kalp’s ears and drags his head up and presses his hot mouth directly over Kalp’s.

  It is Kalp’s first kiss.

  It is everything Kalp hopes for.

  It is wet and hot and the soft slick slide of tongues is breathlessly exhilarating in ways that Kalp had not expected. Basil’s hands are fisted in his shirt now, demanding and controlling the angle and depth that he can manoeuvre. He is trying to prove something, prove that he is not scared of Kalp or scared of himself and this strange want, Kalp is not sure. Kalp tilts his head back and lets his mouth fall open a bit more and lets Basil take everything he wants. Anything he wants.

  The kiss slows. It becomes tender a way that Kalp has never seen in the pornographies he has watched. Basil licks into Kalp’s mouth, running his tongue against Kalp’s, over the roof of his mouth, and across his teeth.

  Then he jerks back sharply and claps his hands over his mouth.

  “Damnit,” he says, the words muffled by his fingers. A small drop of blood slides through a crack between them and down the stairway of his knuckles.

  “Basil?” Gwen asks. She is still sitting on the chair, and her cheeks have gone a delectable shade of red. She is breathing hard, as if she has been the one exerting herself physically. The effects of kisses seem to be communicable. Interesting.

  “Fangs,” Basil says again and grimaces as more blood drops out from between clenched fingers.

  “Is it bad?” Gwen is already getting up out of her chair, reaching for the tissue box that lives on the side table by the end of the sofa.

  Kalp reaches up and takes Basil’s hands and Basil tries to wave him off. Kalp persists and manages to convince Basil to open his mouth and stick out his tongue.

  It is not bad. The bleeding is slowing already. A surface scrape.

  Kalp gets a sudden saddening flash of knowledge: his people were not made for kissing. Basil frowns and goes into the kitchen to rinse out his mouth — it is not a deep gash, but Basil will be avoiding curry for the next few weeks. Kalp lets go.

  “I’lb do it bettah nexzt time,” Basil swears before cupping a hand under his chin to keep the blood splatters off the carpet.

  The carnivore in Kalp licks the last of Basil’s blood off his teeth and likes it. He will not tell the humans, though. He does not want to freak out his Unit and he knows from surreptitious research on the internet that bloodplay is a sexual fetish that not many people indulge in. Asking them to participate in a threesome polygamous relationship with an extra-terrestrial is probably as far as they are willing to stretch their sexual proclivities for this particular moment.

  Gwen comes back to stand beside Kalp. “Idiot,” she mutters and whether she is talking about Basil and his mouth, Kalp and his intentions, or herself, Kalp is unsure. She reaches out slowly, runs one hand over the soft velvety fur of his ear, down his cheek. She leans down, and presses her lips, warm and dry, against his. Her kiss is softer, gentler. There is no invasive tongue, no pushy puckers. Hers is a whisper and, Kalp is slightly disappointed to note, tentative.

  He realizes now how communicative a single kiss can be, how much can be said with the push of mouths and the hot pant of moist breath.

  Basil wounded and drunk, Gwen uncertain and tired, they retire to Kalp’s bedroom.

  “For sleep,” Gwen says as they each strip down into their sleep wear. “Just sleep.”
Kalp plans on wearing no clothing to bed, as always, but then re-dons a pair of boxer shorts when he notices that Basil and Gwen have retained their undergarments. Gwen removes her bra but adds a tee-shirt from Kalp’s dresser, and it is thrillingly intimate. Her breasts are not the ballooned, pale globes that the women in the pornographies sport, stiff and extending out from their chests in an immoveable way. They are low and slightly pendulous, tipped in stiff brown and smattered all along the swell with the same dark brown skin discolorations as decorate the bridge of her nose, the tops of her cheeks. Gwen does not seem to mind that Kalp is looking.

  Basil is watching too, his lips closed shut firmly to keep his new injury protected, pulled down in the sides in a frown. Basil makes an aborted and slightly desperate gesture at his penis. It is mostly engorged, poking at the inside of the boxer shorts, the purple-red head visible and weeping.

  “Oh, for!” Gwen says and rolls her eyes.

  Basil makes the begging face.

  Gwen cuts a glance towards Kalp, suddenly nervous again. Her heart beat speeds, an exhilarating patter against Kalp’s skin, and her forehead and underarms bead with perspiration.

  “May I…?” Kalp asks, and he must stop halfway through the sentence to swallow heavily and clear his throat. He wants to growl, to emit the lust-filled rumbling purr that signals to his mates that he is ready to begin intercourse, but sounds too much like a wild animal for a human’s bedroom. “Please,” he tries again. “May I watch?”

  Basil’s eyes widen and his pupils blow wide and he hisses, “Fuck, Gwen, please? Ow.”

  Gwen rolls her eyes again, and watches carefully as Kalp moves to lean against the corner, out of touching range. Kalp folds his legs under him and waits.

  Gwen, moving carefully to give her belly ample time to adjust to a new position, guides Basil down onto the cushions on his back, kneels down between his legs, and carefully, slowly, slides his penis out of the slit in the front of the boxer shorts. She glances up at Kalp and her eyes are twinkling, her lips curled up in a smirk and Kalp’s own pulse quickens when he realizes that she is teasing him.