Page 54 of Invasive Species
He agrees, and with a bit of careful reaching so I don’t tug his dick off I set up a canvas next to him. We pull the bedsheets underneath him and he lays back, one arm raised over his head, while I sit astride his hips.
He looks tousled and grimy in the best way, like a rockstar post-sex. I want to paint him so badly my fingers shake. I begin sweeping a light green to delineate his arms and chest, lying replete underneath me, over the nice dark green imprint of my back on the canvas.
He takes my hand. “Why are you trembling?”
“I’m fine, just excited. It’s been a while since the muse for art has visited me, but she really, really likes you.”
“Muse? Who’s that?”
“It’s a word we use for the creative impulse. Sometimes I can create all day, other times it’s like the well is empty and I need to wait for it to refill. It’s not like a muscle, I can’t exercise it and make it stronger. It’s either there or it’s not.”
He absorbs this information quietly as I paint his chest inbroad strokes. His scales have gone pale peach with green edges. “Sounds unreliable.”
I chuckle. “Yeah. But that’s also me, so.” I fill in blocks of color as a base. “I guess if you don’t relax, you don’t have hobbies.”
“I study in my free time,” he says.
“Ah, yes.” I grin at him. “Read any good books lately?”
He raises one eyebrow. “Why do I get the feeling you know what I’ve been reading up on?”
I laugh. “No judgment here, dude. The Planet of the Pirate Prince is my favorite series.”
His lips part into a wide smile. “I may have learned a thing or two from those tomes.”
“Mm.” I’ll let him get comfortable with who he is sexually and use this as a framework to explore. “Who’s your favorite character?”
His cheeks flush pink. “I like the captives.”
“Ooh, the nameless ladies? They aren’t really described, so I think they are self-insert characters.”
“Yes. I like that I can put whoever I like into their position.” His warm hands cover my thighs. His forward cock, lying along his stomach, begins to fill out.
“Round two after I’ve painted this masterpiece,” I warn him with a wink.
“Very well,” he says, his smile so delicious my resolve wavers.
I try to focus on the painting. “So, now that we’re fuck buddies, tell me more about yourself.”
His smile flickers. “What do you want to know?”
“Usual stuff. Where you live, who your parents are, what you want to do with your life… stuff like that.”
He swallows hard. “The difficult questions, I see.”
I open my mouth to say he doesn't have to when he exhales slowly. “I live, or should say lived, in a Selthiastockcompound. Once we graduated, we were meant to work in Selthia's Oasis, assigned to teams to live out our lives as surgeons serving females and True Born males. Those who failed the exams were executed. I was reassigned to Ilia’s team after he made an inspection of the Oasis, and something made him choose me.”
I go still listening to him, paintbrush suspended in the air.
“My parent, singular, is known as the All-Mother. She donated all her eggs to create the clones. I’m a Selthiastock type, with the coolness under pressure and intelligence required to be fine medics. There are other clone types: Ilia is a Gerverstock clone, built to lead and adventure; the mind-synched trio are Parthiastock, and they're law keepers; and Arture is a Pranastock, they make excellent pilots.”
That's a lot. All I can think so to say is, “Wow.”
Yeah. Definitely doesn't cut it.
Running his calloused hand over my thigh, he goes on. “There are a limited number of females and low volumes of males born, known as True Born. Hence the need for the clones. True Born males are also subservient to females but they are a caste above clones. They call clones ‘Tubers’ as a derogatory term.”
His scales dim to be nearly as pale as my own skin color.
