Sol shifted against Zarven's chest, the silk skirt pooling around his hips as he turned to look up at the bronze-skinned Seeth. The violet pigments Zarven had painted on his eyelids had smudged, but Sol didn't care. His voice came out quiet, almost apologetic. "I'm not as young as you think. I'm thirty. I just... I've never been with anyone. Before you."
Zarven's laugh rumbled through his chest, warm and low. His hand came up to cradle the back of Sol's head, fingers threading through dark hair. "Little one," he said, amber eyes catching the tent's dim light, "I am seven hundred and twenty-three years old. You could be a century and still be young to me." He tilted Sol's chin up, thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "It doesn't matter. The number. Only this matters."
Sol's breath hitched as Zarven's mouth found his again, slow and deliberate, tasting of salt and something sweet. He melted into the kiss, one hand gripping Zarven's shoulder, the other pressing flat against his chest where he could feel the slow, steady thrum of a heart that had been beating for centuries. Everything outside this tent faded—the garden sounds, the distant hum of the ship, the weight of his own history.
Outside, Orion stirred on his bedroll, the soft sounds of kissing pulling him from sleep. He blinked, blue skin catching the faint glow of the garden's bioluminescent plants. Through the gap in Sol's tent, he saw Zarven's broad back and Sol's smaller form pressed against him, lips moving together in the dark. Orion looked away quickly, heat rising to his cheeks, and saw Alex and Ryll walking hand in hand toward their own quarters, their figures disappearing into the shadowed entrance of the stone chamber they'd claimed.
He sat up, his blanket falling away, and found Anako sitting cross-legged near the dying embers of the cookfire, a needle and thread moving through pale fabric in her lap. Her silver-streaked hair was pulled back, her face calm in the low light. She looked up as he approached, her brown eyes warm but knowing.
"Couldn't sleep?" Anako asked, her voice soft.
Orion shook his head, settling onto the ground across from her. "The sounds." He gestured vaguely toward Sol's tent, then let his hand drop. "I'm not used to... any of this. Where I'm from, sex is private. Quiet."
Anako's needle paused. She looked at the fabric in her hands—a shirt she was altering for K'lthix, who had complained that the sleeves were too short. "Here, it's survival. Connection. The Seeth take everything from us. Our homes, our bodies, our futures. But this—" she held up the needle, "—we can still make things. Still choose who we touch." She resumed her stitching. "I've seen more couplings in the past month than in my entire life on my homeworld. And I've learned that silence doesn't mean consent, and noise doesn't mean shame."
Orion watched her hands move. "You never... with anyone?"
Anako smiled, a thin, tired thing. "I was married. Fifty-three years. He died when the Seeth took our colony. I haven't touched anyone since." Her eyes met his. "But I don't begrudge them their touch. They're alive. That's the victory."
She finished a stitch, tied it off, and stood, brushing dust from her trousers. "I should finish this before K'lthix's morning feeding. They get irritable when their clothes don't fit." She gathered her materials and walked toward her own corner of the garden, a small alcove she'd lined with salvaged blankets.
Orion sat alone, the firelight flickering across his blue skin. He stared into the embers, his mind churning with images—Zarven's hands on Sol, Alex and Ryll disappearing into their chamber, Anako's quiet grief. He didn't hear the clicking at first. It was soft, rhythmic, coming from the shadows near the garden's edge.
He turned. Vex stood there, her insectoid body catching the firelight in strange refractions. She was humanoid from the waist up—pale green skin, sharp cheekbones, compound eyes that glowed faintly. From the waist down, her body elongated into a segmented thorax and six limbs, two of which ended in delicate, clawed hands. Her mouthparts clicked as she tilted her head at him.
"I don't... understand you," Orion said, his voice tentative. "I'm sorry. The Seeth translation field doesn't work with—"
Vex clicked again, a different pattern, and took a step closer. Her hands moved in the air, drawing shapes—a circle, a line, two figures touching. She pointed at him, then at herself, then made the same gesture.
Orion's throat tightened. "You want to...?"
She clicked once, sharply. Then again, softer. She pointed at the fire, then at him, then at the shadows where Sol's tent stood. She was asking if he'd ever been touched. If he wanted to be.
His cock stirred against his thigh, and he didn't look away. "I don't know how," he admitted. "With you. I don't know—"
Vex crossed the distance in three smooth strides, her clawed hand coming to rest on his shoulder. The touch was light, almost delicate, and he felt the vibration of her clicking through her palm. She was asking permission. He understood that much.
He nodded. Once.
Meanwhile, Alex and Ryll had reached their chamber—a small stone room with a mattress of woven plant fiber and blankets scavenged from the ship. Bunny lay curled on the far side, awake, his eyes catching the light as they entered. He sat up, his thin frame visible beneath the thin sheet.
"Bunny," Alex said, closing the door behind them. His voice was different now—lower, harder. "I need to ask you something."
Bunny's ears perked up, his posture shifting from sleepy to attentive. "Yes?"
Alex crossed to the mattress, standing over him. Ryll moved to Bunny's other side, her tendrils drifting through the air, her black eyes fixed on him. "Do you want to be fucked hard?" Alex asked. "Harder than before. Harder than anything."
Bunny's eyes widened, then a slow, eager smile spread across his face. "Yes," he said, enthusiasm bright in his voice. "Yes, I want that."