"Nanay, Tatay," he began, speaking the Tagalog he'd grown up with. His parents knew less Syncrete than Portya did, so perhaps that was another reason a video like this was better. "I have met someone, finally. And his name is Portya." Diego looked at Portya and waved him to come within camera range. He switched to Syncrete. "Yes, he is alien, but he is also intelligent, fun to be with, and, as you see, very beautiful."
"Kamusta," Portya began, repeating the greeting Diego had taught him. "Would be my pleasure to meet you one day in person," Portya said with a gracious incline of his head. "Your offspring not good judge of beauty, but have much…emotional bonding with him. Lissande, we say in my language. Not translate well, sorry."
"Mahal ko siya," Diego said gravely, finding it easy to tell his parents, though he'd yet to say the words to Portya. Not that he was sure Portya would understand the word love anyway.
He ended the recording, and sent it before he could have second thoughts.
*~*~*
"I talk to my family yesterday. About you." Portya was setting out boxes of take-out food he'd picked up on his way home. As he often did, Diego tried to imagine life on Beresh, or at least Portya's corner of it. His ease with take-out suggested they did something similar, brought home pre-made food.
He knew that, much like in Human social evolution, the Antho had developed groups, perhaps even castes, of people with specialized occupations. Like Humanity, it came after the development of a written language, a way to store information reliably outside of themselves. He knew there were "people who cooked for a living" though he didn't know if there was a hierarchy in that occupation, an equivalent to the difference between a short order line cook and Michelin five-star chef. Diego cooking his favourite Filipino dish was the only time Portya had reacted with any distinction to food.
Diego liked the dishes Portya brought on these occasions. It was Antho street food, simple, yet tasty, now that he'd gotten used Antho flavourings. He glanced at Portya through his eyelashes. "How did they react?"
Portya angled his head and lowered his eyes, expressing reluctance. "Better than could be. Been. My parents not typical."
"Oh?" Dr. Filas had told Diego so, but he wasn't sure if mentioning it was a good idea. He knew so little of day to day cultural etiquette. Then again, if Beresh was anything like Earth, there probably wasn't one single etiquette to fit all the cultures of Beresh.
"My seed parent from Nyssen, city in southern continent. They live presently in Kessent, big northern city, many millions Antho. Birth parent relatives are much. Many. They emotional relationship considered unusual. They more accept of unusual…lissande."
Diego sat down at Portya's gesture, and selected a two-pronged fork from the pile of disposable cutlery and packets of condiments. He waited for Portya to sit as well, watching him intently. "Kessent, is that where you're from?"
Portya's shoulders rolled slightly and he followed up with a Human nod.
"Did the other kids—children—pick on you for being different?"
Portya gave him an eye crinkle. "No. Offspring—children? Not care about that. Only matters for breeding. Had many friends."
"Not so many anymore?"
Portya took some crispy veggie cubes and popped the lid on one of the small recyclable containers of dip, taking his time to answer. "We mature, go different ways, have different…" He didn't finish, possibly lacking the Syncrete word. "Not easy, on Mikesi. Space station."
"Yeah." Diego had Wilma and Rudy, and though they were friendly, they were still crew. Without them, he knew he'd not have made any friends on the station, either. Apart from Portya. And they were far more than friends. He smiled as he filled his plate. He looked up to share it with Portya. "We have each other."
"You have siblings?"
"Mmm," Diego agreed, chewing his food. After he swallowed, he added, "Three. And my aunt—my mother's sister—is in Manila too. So I grew up with my cousins as well as other kids, children, in our neighbourhood."
"Cousins?" Portya tilted his head.
It was Diego's turn to be at a loss. "The offspring of the siblings of my parents."
"Maneeya is big city?"
"Yes." Diego grinned. "Almost too big." Once the capital of the Philippines, it was now a major city in the Pacific Islands Cultural State. Diego had no nostalgia for nationalism, but loved the revival of traditional culture, from food to music to textiles, that permeated the city of his birth.
"You miss?"
"Sometimes. It's nice to be out here." He took Portya's hand.
Portya wrapped his fingers around Diego's. "I want to show you. Kessent. Cannot."
Diego wanted to see it, intensely curious about the place that had made Portya. "You can show me video. Who knows, maybe our working together out here will change the rules."
After they ate, they sat side by side and worked out the calculations of their respective birthdays in each other's calendars, though Antho only celebrated every tenth one. When they had it sorted, Diego looked at Portya as pleased as if they'd solved a Fold equation.
TWELVE
It surprised Diego to learn that Portya knew of Backwash. Portya liked to take him everywhere, or so he'd thought, so Portya's reluctance to go there struck him odd. "Is it social status?"
Portya tucked his chin in confusion.
He then had to explain that on Earth, an administrator and a stevedore were considered unequal social standings with unspoken—sometimes outspoken—rules against intermingling.
"But both works is necessary," Portya said, clearly puzzled.
"I never said it made sense." Diego waited, but when Portya failed to offer a reason for his reluctance, he said, "So we're going?"
"We go. You not show more Antho how to dart?"
Diego grinned. "Oh, is that what you're worried about? That I'll press up against someone else to show them how to throw a dart?"
A long golden stare was his response.
"No, lover, I won't." Diego pulled Portya to his feet so he could hug him. "Just you."
They easily found Wilma and Rudy at a table that was no longer a Humans only table. Several of Diego's crew had successfully mingled, but not to the same extent Diego had. "You've seen Wilma and Rudy around, of course. They help me run Caravan."
"Help you," Rudy said with a snort, even as he extended his hand. "He'd be lost without us. I'm Rudy, she's Wilma."
He was glad Rudy remembered that Portya wouldn't have any kind of reference to guess which name belonged to which person. Then again, the pair of them were close friends and had probably run into some confusion before.
"Hey, big guy. Glad you could come out," Wilma said cheerfully, addressing Portya's crotch.
Diego cleared his throat.
She gave him a blindingly innocent smile. "We saved you a seat. You only need one, right?"
"This is Dockmaster Ceena, but you two probably already know each other," Rudy said to Portya. "Ceena, our friend Diego."
"Captain. Hear much of you."
Handshakes done, Diego gestured for Portya to take the chair Wilma had saved. Diego hadn't thought Portya would take Wilma seriously but he didn't resist when Portya tugged him onto his lap.
He noticed that Ceena and Portya addressed each other by title, which seemed oddly formal for Anthos. But two pitchers of Beresh beer and Wilma's virtual dart game soon had everyone relaxing.
*~*~*
The elaborately printed cellulose caught Diego's eye. Although the stuff was easily recyclable, very little was printed on it since it was easier to send digital messages, files, announcements and so forth. "What's this?" he asked, drawing from the pile of things to be recycled.
"Invitation to fancy party."
"You're not going?" Diego couldn't read it; the markings were in Antho. He assumed. But they were gold and the date and time were easy to figure out—station time ran on Human references, as a courtesy to the Humans who were given command of the small orbiting town.
"We have a date," Po
rtya said, reaching for the invitation.
Diego grabbed it with his other hand, holding it out of Portya's grasp. "This could be our date."
"You want to go?"
"Why not? Remember I told you about social stratification based on occupation?"
"Yes."
"Ship captains normally don't get to go to fancy parties."
"You won't like it." Portya made another grab for the invite.
Diego let him have it. "Even if you're right, at least I can say I've gone to one. I'll let you pick my clothes," he added. Portya sometimes complained that Diego wore too many clothes.
Portya paused in the act of crumpling the invitation. "You will? I may purchase clothes for you?"
Diego opened his mouth to protest—that wasn't what he'd meant—but nothing in his own closet would do and Portya's clothes wouldn't fit him. "Yes, we can go shopping."
Portya pulled his other arm from around Diego and smoothed out the invitation. "We can go."
*~*~*
Eyeing the pile of soft, silky garments in Portya's arms, Diego felt a measure of unease. Relax, they're just clothes. He would dress to please you in a reverse situation. Which he didn't doubt, though he'd never ask. Why would he want Portya to cover up that gorgeous body? Especially now that he knew no one else thought it was gorgeous. He assumed—he hoped—a formal event would at least require a jacket thing that covered his nipples. The idea of going to a party bare-chested, no matter how fashionable it might be in Portya's city of Kessent, was fine until he realized people such as Ambassador Karim and Commander Zaya would be there.
It would be similar to those dreams where one appeared naked in a room full of dressed people.
"In, in," Portya said, pushing at the small of his back.
Diego closed the door of the small change room and stripped down to his briefs.
"You need this." Portya tossed something over the door that looked remarkably like a jock strap. "Hygiene."
Diego cleared his throat. "Right." Portya wanted him to wear the soft flowing trousers that seemed to be held up only by one's junk. Having removed them often enough from Portya, he knew the waistband was a snap material that fit smooth and snug around the hips and over the curve of the ass. A brisk tug released it, letting the trousers drop in a swift, elegant motion, even over Antho knees. They were always worn without undergarments, which confounded Diego. If he got hard wearing these, there would be no hiding it.
He pulled off his briefs and studied the item Portya had thrown him. How many other—? But no, it was flimsy, powdered, obviously disposable. Of course.
It fit much like a jock strap too, only it offered no support and felt as fragile as tissue paper. He pulled on the first pair of trousers, a solid silky fabric in a bright blue that looked surprisingly good against the tan shade of his skin.
"How fit?" Portya's voice was close on the other side of the door.
The waistband—if something that low on his hips could be called the waistband—was a perfect fit. The fabric flowed over his dick with a weight he could feel. Just rubbing against the fabric bare would probably make him hard the first time he wore them. What had he let himself be talked into?
The length was also perfect, the fabric belling around his ankles like Persian salwar. "Um, good, but—" He stared in the mirror. The waistband sat so low on his hips, a dark band of pubic hair was visible.
The door opened and Portya crowded in behind him. "Look good," he said, his voice a deep, raspy purr as he checked out Diego's reflection.
"I'll have to shave to wear these." Diego meant it as a protest, but it sounded more like a mild annoyance. Like he would do it, and not care—
Portya ran the fingers of one hand lightly over the visible hair. "Here?"
"P-Portya, what are you—" His words were choked off by a noise he'd not have guessed he could make as Portya stroked his dick through the fabric. Diego groaned again as he grew hard, popping out of the disposable jock and tenting the trousers.
"That not hygienic," Portya murmured, releasing the waistband to free Diego's erection. He snapped it closed again under his balls, only the curve of his ass holding the ridiculous garment on.
Diego didn't have time to worry about that, because Portya's unique grip was stroking him, excruciatingly slow. His back pressed against Portya's chest, and Portya was licking his neck and murmuring sibilant words in his ear. "P-Portya…"
"Ssss, sessra mi, tessle mila…"
Watching Portya stroke him was an exquisite torture, long fingers and thumbs wrapped securely around him, rings glinting as they caught the light. One thumb slid across the crown of his cock to use his pre-come as slick. Diego hips jerked in response to Portya's rhythm, and he whimpered, aware that it was a simple partition separating them from the rest of the shop. He closed his eyes, throwing his head back.
Portya kissed him, lips pressing and Diego tensed, just one stro—
Portya stopped. "Can't make mess," he said, voice low. He pushed Diego up against the wall beside the mirror and sank to his knees in front of him.
"P-Portya," Diego stammered again, begging or warning, he wasn't sure.
The second Portya's hot, wet mouth closed around him, Diego's climax spun out of control. He put his hand in his mouth to stifle his cries and pressed his shoulders into the wall as his cock shot his release into Portya's throat.
His knees trembled.
Portya licked him clean and nuzzled his softening dick with his cheek. "You taste kersel," he said, or something like that. The Antho Portya spoke still tended to sound like sliding soft consonants blurring into each other. "We buy this."
Diego continued to lean on the wall, catching his breath as Portya released the waistband again and let the silky garment puddle around his feet. He tugged at the disposable jock, and the remains fell away from Diego's body.
Portya gracefully rose and drew a now-naked Diego into his arms.
He felt so warm, so firm, so soft. His scent of dry grass and Portya-ness filled Diego's nose. "You didn't even…" He'd been pressed against Portya's chest and thighs and Portya had not been hard, was not at this moment holding a very naked Diego, hard at all.
"I like it very much," Portya rasped in his ear. "Tessle mila sessra…"
He had no idea what that meant, and it didn't matter. "But you—?" Diego leaned his head back to meet Portya's eyes, and found them crinkled.
"Adult can control his body, minessa. We in public. You dress."
Diego groaned even as his cheeks flooded with colour. "I can't go out there."
"I ask for privacy before I come in. Still. Should not linger. You are okay?" His eyes searched Diego's as if the answer lay there.
"Fine," Diego said, testing his knees. Still wobbly, but nothing he couldn't handle. He let go of Portya, letting his fingertips linger over the silk of Portya's jacket and the warmth of his bare stomach to the decorative fabric decal that covered his naval.
"You dress," Portya repeated, catching Diego's hands in his. He brought them to his mouth and licked Diego's knuckles. "We get dinner, take home. My place," he added.
Diego nodded. He wanted to find out why—or how—Portya didn't get hard. It was a bit bruising to his ego.
When he was fully dressed, he found Portya at the payment kiosk, a bag already in hand. Diego kept his eyes averted from the Antho minding the shop, though it seemed to have no other customers at the moment. On the space station, the shops were small, and the selection catered to the most common fashions. The trousers he had tried on were commonly worn by Antho like Portya. They just didn't seem quite as scanty on them.
He didn't say much, but when Portya reached for his hand, he took it. He liked walking hand in hand with Portya. At the take-out concession, he answered when Portya asked him what he wanted, and he carried the food home when it was ready. Diego did not mention that they were supposed to have gone out to the Pink Pearl for supper and a game of pool. The things he wanted to ask…it was a private conversation.<
br />
Home, that was a funny word.
Diego turned it over in his thoughts as he and Portya set the table and put out the food in a practiced synchronicity. Home.
"I'm not sure I can wear those trousers to the party."
"You can."
Diego's cheeks heated up. "It isn't—I mean, what if I…I don't seem to have any control around you." He frowned at his plate. "You don't seem to have any problem with control." Not anymore. Or was that a symptom of his allergy?
"There is…device. Made for young people, who can't control body functions."
Diego narrowed his eyes. "It will stop me from getting an erection?"
"Yes. It," Portya made a circle with his fingers and thumbs, "stops flow of blood."
"A cock cage, you're talking about a damned cock cage."
Portya's eyes crinkled. "Cock cage," he repeated. "Yes."
His face burning hotter than before, Diego said, "You don't need one."
Portya tapped his chest lightly with his fingers. "I adult."
Diego studied him, recognizing the posturing as Antho body language for 'smug.' "What about that night at the Pink Pearl? You practically begged me…" He raised his eyebrows, arms crossed in challenge.
"Was sick," Portya replied, his voice solemn even as the crinkle of his eyes gave him away. "Also, not get hard. Just wet."
Diego deflated. That was true. Even suffering a weird reaction to Diego's seminal fluid, Portya had retained control of his dick in public. Still, he'd do his best to arouse Portya at this party, if only to offset his embarrassment at having to wear a…damn it, Antho device sounded a lot less humiliating than cock cage. "We'll see," he muttered.
Portya's eyes almost vanished into crinkles and his body shook.
He wouldn't find it amusing at the party. And Diego'd be damned if he were going to wear an Antho device, even if only he and Portya would know.
Diplomacy Squared Page 7
