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“Well,” January says. “I suppose you didn’t win the consulate on the strength of your clever titles.” He’s looking down at a presentation Gale’s about to launch into, prepared especially for him; the title slide reads, “The Dialectic of Strength and Pleasure Throughout the Ages: Why You Should Have Sex With Me Without Your Cage On.”
Gale sparkles at him. “You don’t need a gimmicky title when you’ve got good arguments.”
January sighs. He should have known Gale wasn’t going to drop this.
—
The first time Gale suggested it, January was immediately opposed—his exact words were, “No way in hell.” But Gale’s nothing if not persistent.
“I can tell you’re in pain from it,” they told him, “and not the good kind. If you’re hurting while we’re fucking, I want it to be fun. And because we choose it together.”
It’s not like January didn’t find the idea appealing.
(Both ideas.)
It’s just—
The idea of Gale reaching over and pushing the release on his cage like it’s nothing, like the exact same gesture didn’t land them in the hospital missing most of a leg.
Like it’s nothing.
January can’t—he can’t.
January kisses them instead, and the subject is changed.
—
To be fair to January, the next time Gale brought up the idea, they had January tied down by his cage and babbling, and he would have agreed to almost anything. Almost. Cage-free was still a no, but Gale did get a yes on the PowerPoint presentation.
They agreed afterwards that their tactics weren’t exactly fair play, but they didn’t look sorry about it at all.
—
The summary slides, when drilled down to their essentials, were something like this:
Gale wanted January to see that they are stronger than they look; they won’t break upon single points of contact.
They wanted January to feel good.
And they wanted him to know that they trust him, fully.
January didn’t agree immediately, but whenever they looked at him with devotion in their eyes, he could see the bullet points hanging in the air between them.
I’m strong. I want you to feel good. I trust you.
—
The problem is, January doesn’t trust himself. Or really, he doesn’t trust his own body.
“You used to,” Gale argued. “You held entire people up by one hand. You trusted your body then. Why do you think it will let you down now?”
“That was Terry,” January mutters. “I wasn’t worried about hurting Terry. I was worried about Terry hurting me. Now—well, now I worry about hurting you. You’re not Terry.”
“Your body took care of you then,” Gale says, touching his shoulder, running their fingers down his arm, across the curvature of the cage against his skin, bruises like a shadow underneath. “It’ll take care of us now.”
January’s not so sure.
—
Gale is sure. As they stated in their presentation, which contained not just bullet points but charts, statistics, examples of historical precedence, a few case studies, and some very convincing (and realistic) graphics to illustrate.
Sex between a Natural person and an Earthstronger without their cage is not only possible, but safe, with some preparatory steps.
January argued that he’s already taking the cage off a few hours a day, and he’s fine. He’s fine. The bruises aren’t nearly as bad as they used to be. He’s got a room full of weighted items where he can safely move around without breaking things, for while he takes a break from the cage.
Gale beams at him. That’s exactly the kind of preparation that will make it possible for them to be together without the cage.
January recognizes a setup, but as the presentation concludes with Gale in January’s lap, nibbling on his earlobe and rocking into him with their robes pulled up to their waist, he doesn’t have much will to fight left.
Yes, he’s still terrified, but as he clutches the back of Gale’s robes to hold them firmly onto him, gripping their ass beneath the stiff metal gauntlets, he concedes: this would feel pretty good without a cold metal exoskeleton on.
—
Gale might have won this round, but January’s still nervous. He doesn’t want to hurt Gale. He’s terrified of it, in fact. So he hasn’t been avoiding Gale, but he has been using countermeasures of distraction to great effect. Mostly snogging them when they bring it up until they’re boneless and sleepy.
Gale’s an excellent learner, though, especially at using other people’s techniques against them. January’s leaving the weighted room when a message pops up on his glasses. Can you come to our room? I need to show you something. From Gale, of course. January takes a left instead of a right, up the elevator to the fifth floor.
Our room. They still didn’t technically share a room, although they sleep together every night, their bodies pressed tightly together like the flowers January’s mother used to keep between the pages of a book. At this point, the separate rooms are a formality, but January taps on the door to be polite and then opens it without waiting for a response. “Gale?” he says. There’s candles lit around the room. He doesn’t remember there being an energy savings warning in place. “What did you need to show me?”
He sees Gale on a bench against the wall as he closes the door, and his mouth drops open. Their hair hangs heavy and silky over one shoulder, the consul’s sigil off to one side on a low table. They’re in a gown made of what looks like yards of expensive, transparent fabric; it covers them completely but when they lean back slightly on one arm, January can tell the material is thin and almost weightless; it slides obligingly out of the way, revealing their shoulder and baring their crossed leg to the thigh with shifting clarity. The novelty of getting to see their arms and chest, even through fabric, still makes him feel fizzy and electric, like a schoolboy—probably more excited than he ever was in school, because there was no Gale in secondary.
“Take your cage off,” Gale says, their husky voice just this side of burnt sugar. January gulps; he’s already getting hard but—he looks down at his hands. They look like anvils in the low light, like nothing that could ever be careful or delicate; he feels prehistoric and crude, like something unfinished. Like he’s a bull and the china shop has invited him in for tea and left all their most beautiful breakables out on display.
“January,” Gale says, and he looks up again. “There’s a custom in Tharsis that says it’s bad manners for you to be wearing more than me. And right now, considering I’m not wearing anything under this, you’re demonstrating very bad manners.” They let the fabric slip off their arm entirely and their nipple appears, pale and erect; January wants it in his mouth.
He moistens his lips; he’s having trouble putting a coherent thought together. “You made that up,” he says finally.
“Go ask Ren if you don’t believe me,” Gale teases, swinging their exposed leg a bit; the slit rides higher up their thigh, all the way to their sharp hip bone.
January has a sudden flashback to the last time they were in bed, how it felt to trace his fingers over that hip and down, their legs spreading under his hands. If he were to touch them without the metal between them…
He wants to keep arguing with them, but he’s having trouble thinking straight; the blood’s fleeing his brain. “Are you sure?” is all he can manage.
They look at him, saying nothing, but their look is a challenge. He shrugs his shirt and trousers off but when he hesitates again, they shrug their shoulder slightly so the fabric slides down their other arm, leaving their chest and the planes of their stomach on display, folds of cloth pooling in their lap.
January swallows and touches the release on his cage before he loses his nerve entirely; it hisses back and he steps away from it, naked in front of them.
Since he just left the weighted room Gale had built for him to allow him to safely remove his cage, he’s not as uncoordinated as he might otherwise be. He flexes his hands, pressing them against each other as counterweight, getting used to the feel of not being restrained.
January’s cage fits him more tightly than it used to, which is obvious now that he’s not wearing it, or anything else. Lines grid across his body. Of course he’d started out heavier than anyone else living in the complex, and now he’s added bulk from being able to resume dancing and on top of that, a soft layer of fat that he’s never had the luxury to develop before. He thought of Terry, with the slightest amount of guilt; turns out he’d been on to something with the cake. The kitchen at Songshu is outstanding, and it doesn’t help that Gale has insisted on bringing him in to cook for them occasionally.
At least one of those times ended with Italian-style buttercream in places buttercream wasn’t intended to be…all in all, January doesn’t regret the extra heft of his body, but at this exact moment, he can’t help feeling self-conscious all the same.
Gale has stayed in place on the bench across the room, letting him adjust to the cage being off, but their gaze on his body feels weighty. He’s never actually, fully naked in front of them. January knows they’ve got to be thinking about how strange he looks, how primitive and alien to their eyes his Earthstronger body is, something ancient and outdated; he has a sudden wild urge to cover himself up again.
“It’s not good for you to wear something this tight,” they say finally, still frowning, their eyes tracing the bruises and light indentations pressed into January’s skin like an inked stamp. “It’s hurting you.”
“I’m fine,” January tries to smile at them reassuringly. “I’m strong, remember?”
Their eyes travel down his body again, more deliberate and intentional; this look feels like a caress. “Come here.”
January hesitates, then walks toward them slowly, carefully. His fear must show in his eyes because they don’t move, just wait for him to approach them, leaning back slightly on the bench to show off their naked skin glowing in the candlelight.
“Shhh,” they whisper as he comes to stand right before them, his cock hardening despite his apprehension. They look down at it and lick their lips. “You’re all right.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, strained, still holding back although he wants nothing more than to have his mouth on them. Any part of them.
“Then you know how I feel,” they say, and bend forward until their mouth is hovering over his cock, precome dripping from the tip. He can feel their breath cool against his skin. "I don't want to hurt you, either." They take his tip in their mouth and swirl their tongue around it with a soft suck; January shivers and works hard to stand in place, focusing on the damp, languid pull of Gale’s tongue. They pull off and look at him, still breathing out against his spit-slicked skin. "In fact, I want to make you feel very, very good."
“You do,” January says, and gently, so gently, puts his hand in their hair, heavy and smooth in his fingers. He eases their head back and bends to kiss them. Lightly at first, but Gale’s ready for him, their lips soft and open, tongue pressing in with insistence.
January thinks suddenly about when they first held hands in the pool, how much stronger Gale was than he was expecting. He thinks of a scrap of Shakespeare from one of the first ballets he performed as principal, Romeo and Juliet; the artistic director had made them read the play for background.
Palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.
Let lips do what hands do; they pray.
He grips their hair harder and kisses them back, as close to a prayer as he’ll ever get.
As January feels their tongue in his mouth, wet and hot, he thinks, I could do this forever and be happy. Then they reach out and take hold of his cock, damp and hard under their long, clever fingers, and stretch up to trail wet kisses down his neck and he thinks, no, this, I could do this forever. I could do this with them forever. Nevermind his ancient relic of a body, if it lets him hold Gale.
January’s body involuntarily arches toward Gale’s mouth when they take his nipple between their lips and bite, gently; he moans. No one’s ever done that before. Gale looks up at him consideringly and spreads their knees, pulling him by the small of his back to stand between their legs, his dick dripping and pressed against their naked chest, then takes his other nipple in their mouth and sucks hard. January moans again and can’t help but grind his dick against their chest, just a bit, for the friction; Christ, that’s good.
They sit up, away from him, and January whines against his will. "Now," they say, in that burnt sugar voice of theirs, as their hands trail down his back, over his arse, to grip his cheeks and pull them apart, just the slightest suggestion, "will you be a good January and let me take care of you? The way you deserve?"
He’s grateful his hands are still in their hair; that and their grip on him might be all that’s keeping him standing. "I should say no," he grits out. "You always tell me if I really like you, I'll fight you." They bend down and lick his cock up its length, letting the tip rub against their jawline and neck. "Fuck, you just—ye—yes."
"Yes, what?" they whisper, running their hands over his ass, tugging his legs further apart, letting their fingers drift closer to his hole.
“Yes, Gale,” he says, and they take his cock down their throat, spit dripping down the side. January wants nothing more than to close his eyes but he knows he has to see this, to sear this in his memory, of beautiful Gale with his cock in their mouth, their hand on his balls, rubbing at his hole. He never would have dreamed this could be him a year ago.
He comes hard in their mouth, shaking and quivery, and they allow him to slide down to his knees in between their thighs, panting and spent while they stroke his hair gently.
As his wits return, he realizes where he is, cheek pressed against the sheer fabric over their soft thigh. He’s literally collapsed to the floor. He can smell their silky skin and their arousal, pressed so close to his face; he can't help but give a lick himself at anything he can reach without moving. They give a small startled sound and then that burnt whiskey laugh. Encouraged, he very deliberately looks up at them while he leans farther into their lap; they’re looking back down at him, their real, soft smile on their face, and they look so very fond that January feels his heart swelling in his chest.
How could anyone not fall in love with them? How is everyone not in love with them? It’s unthinkable that he, January, is the one who gets to have this.
He eases his hands up their thighs, remembering despite his haze to be careful, to be gentle, to use only as much force as will give pleasure, not pain. Their skin is softer and smoother than their expensive gown, and he lets his hands glide up, up, up, pushing back the fabric pooled over their legs. Gale twitches, just a little, and adjusts it over their prosthetic, and he pushes it back again, looking up at them.
“If I can’t hide, you can’t hide,” he whispers. “I—I’ll be careful.” And they let him; they lean back, watching him unwrap the fabric entirely from their body, pushing it over the back of the bench, until they’re bare before him. They’re breathing more heavily; he can feel the movement of their body like a current under his hands, tensing and moving as he gazes at their body, exposed in front of him, and then leans in to lick them.
They let out a shuddering breath, and he runs his hands up their torso to feel it. To feel their lungs working, to remind himself that he has protected the life he feels under his hands, not just endangered it. He feels the frail ribs under his hands. Their bones, breakable and resistant and firm beneath his palms. Their nipples, tight and furled under his fingers; he pinches one and Gale gasps. He takes it in his mouth; his mouth, he knows, can be soft for them.
He lets it be soft against Gale’s skin. He lets himself push against their chest, biting and sucking, and he lets them guide his head back down to their lap.
January pushes his hands under their thighs and pushes them apart, lifting one over his shoulder; Gale’s head tips back against the wall, back arched into the air, their legs spread on the bench. January dips his mouth and drinks Gale down like champagne, like dessert, like hot chocolate.
By the time Gale’s panting and spent, slouched against the wall, January’s fully hard again; he’s embarrassed about this but Gale pulls him up in another messy kiss, this time with more teeth, and pulls him off on their stomach.
“See? You didn’t hurt me,” Gale says, looking up at him. Their hair is messier than he’s ever seen it, and they’re naked and covered in his come below him. He’s never seen them more beautiful.
Gale mops them both off with the expensive gown and leaves it draped over the bench. They let January put his cage back on before pulling him over to the bed—their bed, really. Maybe it’s time they stopped pretending otherwise.
Gale’s wrapped around him, pressed against his back, tight and warm, and January’s drifting off to sleep when he thinks of it. “Hang on. How often are you naked under those robes then?”
He feels them kiss his hair and hears the smile in their voice. “You’ll just have to check next time and find out, won’t you?”