My whole life, I’d thought of my powerful independence as a good thing. I had to admit that hearing about it from a different perspective knocked me on my ass a little.
My hard suit hissed as the pressure released. I stepped out of it, putting it aside in a neat pile on the ground. Now there was nothing between me and Linn’ar. Both of us were naked.
Logically, I knew there was no inherent shame in nudity. It came from what our human culture taught us. But in practice, I felt highly vulnerable, like an unearthed grub.
Especially sincemycock was out, and Linn’ar’s wasn’t. Evolution really screwed up when scrotums won out over cloacas.
Meanwhile, Linn’ar looked me over like he’d just won the lottery. I couldn’t help but blush under his scrutiny.
I cleared my throat. “I’m going to put on the onesie now.”
His feelers drooped with what I could only assume was disappointment.
I raised a brow. Didn’t hewantme to wear it? Or was the thrill of my naked human body preferable to accepting his gift?
“Or... I could wait,” I suggested, fishing for reaction.
It worked. Linn’ar’s feelers perked back up like the tail of a dog whose owner just returned home.
An amused huff escaped me. His body language was refreshingly honest. It was nice interacting with someone who had nothing to hide.
“I’ll keep this for later,” I stated, folding the brand-new onesie and putting it in the clothes pile with my hard suit.
Keeping with his brutal honesty, Linn’ar’s gaze inspected me eagerly. He made no attempt to hide his interest. Then again, why should he? I’d practically put him under the microscope last night during our first research session. It was only fair that he got to return the favor.
I glanced over to the clothing pile. I brought my pocket-sized study kit with me. It wasn’t like we couldn’t start our second session early...
“What do you say to a little field research?” I suggested.
A pulse of bright pink rippled across Linn’ar’s feelers. “That sounds wonderful!”
I took a mental note of the cycling colors. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him display metachrosis—a fancy word for changing colors, like a chameleon or squid. The feelers were vividly expressive in both their movement and appearance.
And what did Linn’ar say earlier? That they weren’t a sexual organ... but could be? That definitely required further investigation.
“I’d like to propose a cultural exchange,” I said.
Linn’ar tilted his head. “Oh?”
I steeled my nerves, though I had no reason to be anxious. This was for science.
“You can explore my body to your heart’s content,” I began.
Linn’ar visibly brightened. No doubt he was excited about that prospect.
I went on. “And in exchange, I’d like to study your feelers.”
He froze as his magenta eyes widened. “Ah.”
I couldn’t gauge his reaction. Did he not want to accept? Or worse, had I offended him? I thought back to all of my interactions with Maeleons, but couldn’t recall any instance of a human touching a Maeleon’s feelers—or even another Maeleon touching them. It was possible I just committed a cultural taboo without knowing it.
“You don’t have to accept,” I said when he didn’t reply. “I’m sorry if I said something wrong.”
“No, not at all,” Linn’ar said quickly. His feeler mane pulsed with pale greens and blues. Did those colors represent confusion or hesitancy?
But as I watched, something startling happened: a radiant jolt of red exploded over his feelers, cutting through the green and blue hesitation.
Simultaneously, a visible hunger cast itself over Linn’ar’s face. It felt unusual to see him so voracious when he was usually so gentle and doting.
