Finally, Elise looked surprised. The spatula made a soft ting when she lowered it to the rim of the pan. “Cal? Are you okay?”
“I’m not used to being in this form for so long,” he admitted. It was true, if not the whole reason for his agitation. “It is restricting.”
“I can imagine it would be.” She flipped one of the sandwiches, revealing a perfectly browned slice of bread. Cal watched her movements greedily, never having been afforded such an intimate view of a domestic task. “Does touch help?”
He eyed the way her long fingers curled around the handle of the spatula and was surprised by the vivid, erotic image that rushed to the forefront of his brain. His cock chose that moment to remind him of its crucial role in this deal of theirs. The sensation still unsettled him. Would it react like this to everyone now, or just her? Did he even want to feel this way for anyone else?
“I’m not sure,” he answered, for more reasons than she could properly guess. “But I like touching you. I’ve never gotten to touch anyone before.”
Elise turned her head so fast, she came very close to slamming her cheek into his shoulder. He frowned and leaned back as she said, “You’ve— I’m sorry, what?”
He eyed the sandwiches in the pan. They were beginning to smoke. “Are they supposed to do that?”
“Shit.” She waved her hand over the induction stove’s keypad. A friendly chime sounded, apparently to let everyone know that the burner had been deactivated. Carefully scooping the slightly charred sandwiches onto two waiting plates, she asked, “What do you mean you’ve never gotten to touch anyone before, Cal? Everyone touches people.”
“I don’t.” He found himself giving her waist a small, possessive squeeze. “Not until now, anyway.”
And what a luxury it was to touch her. Elise was warm and soft, but with a strength to her that spoke of activity, vitality. She was the kind of woman he might see jogging across the black sand beaches at sunrise, or hiking the Twin Peaks trail on a hot day, sweat glistening on her golden skin. He felt like he was holding something more tangible, more preciously human, than he had any right to be.
Guilt and shame gnawed at him, demanded he wash himself of such small, essential pleasures as touching and being touched, but Cal selfishly pushed them aside. For once, he didn’t want to listen to the damning voice the acolytes had given him. He wanted to know what it was like to have a mate, and he intended to do so.
With the sandwiches settled and the stove turned off, Elise turned slowly in his arms. With her arms extended backwards, she curled her fingers around the oven door’s handle, as if she needed to brace herself for what she said next. “Cal… Have you really never had any human contact before? None?”
Cal indulged his selfishness by skimming the pads of his fingers down the length of her arms. She was wearing a little blue t-shirt with the words RUTH ASAWA HIGH printed on the front. It was faded and thin, with short sleeves that revealed all the strong lines and smooth skin of her freckled arms.
“Loft’s acolytes aren’t exactly known for being touchy,” he dryly answered. “The year I spent with them did not include hugs and kisses. The year I spent in the Solbourne dungeon didn’t either.”
Oh, he’d certainly had physical contact, but only the kind that came at the end of a fist, so he didn’t bother counting it.
And after an introduction to the world such as that, why would he seek out companionship? The only kind he was ever offered came with deadly strings attached. Kaz didn’t count. Their friendship was based mostly on a mutual exchange of information and the respect two predators had for one another. It was the closest thing to companionship he ever had, but even he knew it wasn’t what he really wanted.
After a while, he stopped wondering what it would be like to be held the way he saw others hold their loved ones. To kiss. To have his hair stroked. To fuck.
Until Elise, of course.
Their arrangement had strings, but they were the kind he could tolerate. She didn’t want him to commit more sins, but simply to tell his story. In exchange, he would finally know all the delights he assumed were out of his reach.
She stared up at him with wide eyes, her lips parted with surprise or horror or something else he couldn’t fathom. Her fingers went white around the silver handle of the oven door. “So you’ve never hugged anyone? Kissed? Nothing at all?”
Cal’s eyes darted back up from where they had been contemplating the delicate curve of her clavicle. At some point, she’d cut a slit in the collar of the old shirt. It sagged, just a little, and revealed her winged collar bones to his hungry gaze.
“I’ve kissed you,” he reminded her. And I will do it again.
Cal chose not to say the second part aloud, but the flush in her cheeks told him she picked up on it anyway.
He watched, fascinated, as Elise took in a large breath and then slowly let it out. Her fingers uncurled from around the handle one by one. Turning slightly to the side, she picked up the plates. When her eyes met his again, they were glowing with a sort of determination he’d never seen directed his way before. It was at once breathtaking and terrifying.
Her voice was low with restrained emotion when she said, “Let’s have lunch, and then… Then you need to start telling me your story, Cal, because I have so very many questions.”
* * *
FROM THE DESK OF ELISE SASINI, A TRANSCRIPT OF A VOICE RECORDING DATED FEBRUARY 4th 2045:
CALAMITY: What do you want to know? Everyone knows my story already.
ELISE: I don’t think that’s true. People know the story of the disaster, and they know the legends about you, but they don’t know the truth about who you are and what you do.
CALAMITY: And what makes you think those things aren’t the truth?