Huh. It was a lingerie shop, the models in the window displaying lacy bras and knickers, bodysuits, corsets and suspenders, in a dazzling array of colours. I wandered over, a smile tugging at my lips. “See something you like?” I asked Kade.
I expected an apology about getting distracted, or perhaps a dismissive comment about ‘just looking’. But what Kade said next pulled me up short. “Doyousee anything you like?” he purred.
And holy fuck, that sultry rumble went straight to my cock, making me very glad I’d worn a jacket, as I pulled it closed in front of me. Was he serious? Because I could totally picture Kade wearing nothing but lacy black suspenders, over his vibrant blue scales…
I shoved the thought away. Now was certainly not the time, and I really wasn’t sure how Kade would react if I actually suggested such a thing. “Most of these things are designed for women,” I said, not sure how familiar he was with female undergarments. He’d been taught plenty about sex, obviously, but I had yet to figure out what context any of that education had had. “Actually, that’s an interesting question,” I went on, as the idea popped into my head. I glanced around, making sure no one else was close enough to overhear us. “Do you have any preferences in terms of a…” I dropped my voice a little further. “…a sexual partner? As in male, or female, or any particular species?” How did that even work for the dimari? Was it possible they were all just programmed to be pansexual?
Kade seemed to consider the question for a moment, and I felt a thrill of hope that he was actually going to say something insightful about this one. But then he said, “I desire to please my master,” and my optimism faded. But even in my disappointment, I noted that there was no bitternessin his voice, not the flat monotone he’d used before when he didn’t like something and couldn’t bring himself to say so. This statement had been far more nonchalant, as if the question wasn’t even worthy of his concern. Fair enough. Pansexual it was, then.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Kade
Once I understood what my master actually wanted from me, I’d begun to find the shopping expedition rather fun. The choice of different colours and designs was a bit overwhelming, but by the time we’d chosen t-shirts, pants, underwear, shoes and a suit in a very dark grey, I had gotten the hang of all the odd questions my master kept asking me. On issues of style, I asked for his help, since I didn’t know anything about the fashions on Rendol 4. On matters of colour, I steered our choices towards darker greens, muted blues and the occasional black item. I liked being able to stick to the shadows, and vibrant yellows and purples were never going to achieve that. And when it came to sizes, I became more confident in explaining the fit of the various items, telling my master when one pinched across the thighs, or when the sleeves were too tight around my biceps. And even when I rejected a piece of clothing, he was delighted with my response, eagerly discarding it and picking out a different one.
I’d even worked up the courage to ask him about some of the things I saw other people wearing. I saw a human girl with a set of bright pink straps secured about her torso, just barely covering her breasts and doing nothing at all to ward off the cool autumn weather. There was an elderly Wasop man who seemed to be wearing a bedsheet, and my master explained that it was a mourning shroud; someone the man knew well had died recently. Several of the Denzogals wore nothing at all on their top halves, their thick fur keeping them warm, but on their bottom halves, some of the young males were wearing pants with neon colours in such a chaotic pattern, I thought it must have been a mistake. Apparently, that was the fashion at the moment, though my master was sure the craze would wear itself out soon.
When we had bought everything on my master’s list, with the single exception of a civilian-grade comm, he paused outside a small café. “Comeon. It’s nearly lunchtime,” he said, tugging me inside. “Let’s get something to eat.”
I was still adjusting to the Alliance standard of eating three times a day. During my training, we’d eaten once, most days, and twice if we were performing high intensity physical activities.
“What do you think?” my master asked, staring up at what I assumed was a menu. Without a comm, I wasn’t able to read any of the words. “A sandwich? A pie? Do you like Wasop food? You could get a ridoli.”
I gritted my teeth. More decisions. The endless need to choose one out of a number of items was exhausting. For the last twenty years, I’d been told what to wear, told what to eat, told where to go. Which wasn’t to say I couldn’t think for myself, but I would have much preferred to be given something and told to eat it, rather than having to choose. “A sandwich,” I said, purely because it was the first thing my master had suggested. I braced myself for more questions; What did I want on the sandwich? Did I want some fruit with it? Did I want a drink? Did I want to sit in the café or out in the plaza?
“Meat or salad?” my master asked, and that was just one question too many. I closed my eyes, trying to control the hot, thrumming sensation in my chest.
“I am here to serve your desires,” I replied, because I couldn’t just ignore him.
He was silent, and I opened my eyes, staring at the floor as I waited for him to launch into another long explanation about how my opinion was important. Instead, I felt his warm hand circle my wrist, and then he was leading me out of the café and towards the seats down the middle of the plaza. More than half of them were full now, given that it was coming up to what the Alliance species considered to be lunchtime.
“Sit down,” my master said softly, and I obeyed, still not looking at him. He sat opposite me and took my hand in his, holding it gently but firmly between us. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve upset you.”
“I am fine, sir,” I said. I couldn’t outright contradict him and tell him he hadn’t. But I was also not entitled to be upset.
“I don’t think you are fine,” he said. “And I’d like to understand what’s wrong. Am I right in thinking you haven’t been to a shopping centre before?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied flatly.
“Is it that there’s too many people?”
“No, sir.”
“Is it too loud?”
“No, sir.”
He was silent for a moment. “Kade, look at me,” he said, and I did, because it was an order. “I’m not angry with you. You haven’t done anything wrong. But I want you to tell me what the problem is.”
It was a more direct order than almost anything else he’d said to me today. And so I obeyed him easily. “I’m not used to making so many decisions. I don’t see the difference between a sandwich and a pie. Both are nutritious. Both assuage hunger. I don’t understand how to indicate a preference when I don’t have one.”
My master sat back in his chair, watching me closely for a long moment. “You don’t like garlic, do you?” he said eventually. I didn’t know what to say to that. “It’s okay, you’re allowed to say that you don’t like garlic,” he said gently.
“I don’t like garlic,” I mumbled.
He nodded. “So what I’m trying to do here is to avoid making you eat anything that you particularly dislike. I could choose some food for you, but I don’t know if you’re going to find it unpleasant. And you’re not very forthcoming in telling me.”
Humans were such strange creatures. “I have been trained to eat a wide variety of foods without complaint.” Did I sound petulant saying that? But how else was I supposed to explain this?
