I wash off the residue of my sexual activity, but the confusion of feelings remain. It’s not the first time Harper and I have tumbled into bed together, but it’s the first time I’ve acknowledged that there was more than physical need behind it. It was the girl that brought it to the surface. She walked past us in a cloud of musky perfume and dark hair, and Harper acted predictably with a suggestive comment and a leer. I wasn’t prepared for the surge of anger. I certainly wasn’t prepared for Harper to notice my low growl. “What’s up, big guy? Jealous?” And I was. I didn’t realise I was until after I’d made the mistake of insulting the girl’s genes and pointing out that her hips were too narrow for comfortable childbearing. Harper’s eyes had gone wide at first, then he smirked. “Oh yeah, you’re jealous. Don’t want to share the Harper love.” I growled again and he jumped. He looked a little shocked this time. I don’t think he’d thought about feelings and emotions when we were together. I know I hadn’t until then. I watched his smile go soft and his body relax. “Y’know, I really don’t feel like painting the drift red tonight. We should go back to Andromeda.” “We?” I asked. “Well, I could blow you senseless here, but I don’t feel like getting arrested for public lewdness. Again.” That surprised me. I’d expected him to back off. He doesn’t like it when I growl. I suppose it brings back bad memories of the Nietzscheans on Earth. So we came back here and I rode him long and hard until he was wrung dry. I left him lying semiconscious in a pool of sweat and semen, and now I stand washing myself automatically and wondering what I’ve got myself into. I shouldn’t have been jealous. I should have encouraged Harper to spread his genes. His intellect makes him worthy of fathering children and gaining his immortality. I thought him my shield-brother, but he has become something more. When did his touch become as necessary as air? When did his absence come to mean pain? Why does the thought of him being with anyone else burn me? This is a weakness. I should tell him it is over. Take back my solitary life. Keep myself safe from anyone who would use those I care about to manipulate me. The shower door opens and he steps inside. He smells like sex and looks happy. I open my mouth to tell him that we can’t go on, but nothing comes out. He rubs soap into his hair, squints at me and one corner of his mouth curls up. “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.” And I discover something else about us. Not only do I love him, I trust him too. The End Website: Amused and Abused |