Onus 08

*I have had the wickedest case of writer's block. I don't need to tell you. I think you're all fairly familiar with my creative drought. I was actually nearly done with Onus 08 back in August, and my laptop was stolen on the third. It took me a long time to rewrite, seeing as I didn't get a personal computer until September 01. I have no excuses for the writer's block after that.

I'm still alive.*

*****

For as long as I had been on my own, touch had been a bad thing.

Other Onus were wary and untrusting of strangers. Humans on the street were a dangerous unknown. EO's were a known danger, even before two of them stole me out of my life. Rudy and Nelson beat me, humiliated me, turned me into an animal. With the ordinary man, my fear and aversion to touch had only been crystalized by his sadistic appetites.

Now I was pinned between Sam and the back of the couch. He was crying. Raw choked sounds that made his body shudder with each breath. I had felt a moment of panicked nausea when his arm hooked thoughtlessly around my back, but now...

The length of his body pressed was against mine, but I didn't feel trapped. Even with his arm slung over me, holding me close. I felt the weight closing in from the front and the back and my lungs were still soft, my ribcage still loose, my limbs heavy. I could feel something in the center of my chest. A soft hurt, a hunger. It was painful, despite the vagueness of it. I carefully moved my arm over his side. Gingerly. I could feel his ribs heaving up and down against the side of my arm. I spread my fingers between his shoulder blades, the muscles were taut and trembling under his shirt. I rested my hand, to feel his uneven breaths, and pulled him a little closer. The hunger lessened, but did not go away. It was an endless ache.

But so sweet.

How long had it been, here with my half-faced man? Not long enough for the days to bleed into each other and for existence to lose all meaning beyond a few hours at a time. Not so long as that. Something like that couldn't happen again. I told myself.

With the ordinary man I had been in a single room with the light on all the time. For nearly four years, I never saw the sun, the moon. I never saw clouds or stars or natural light. I never even saw darkness. I never knew if he was coming down at two in the afternoon or five in the morning or just for an after-dinner fuck.

That was another thing Sam had given me. Not just food and medicine. He gave that to all the Onus he could.

Sam had given me back the sky. Sam had given me

time

.

It was ten minutes after twelve, and the sky was the color of new concrete. I could see naked trees moving slightly. The branches had nothing to catch the wind. They bowed reluctantly. The pale light reflected off of Sam's injured right eye. With the light shining just-so, I could see that the surface of the eye wasn't smooth. The tissue itself was slightly textured, wrinkled. The iris listed down and to his right. It moved some with his other eye, but not fully. His clear eye was brown, but on his right his entire eye had a milky cast to it, making the iris barely visible. Like looking through frosted glass.

He could have gotten surgery. The first successful whole-eye replacement surgery had been performed almost ten years ago. He could have gotten grafts or laser treatment for his facial scars. The face-patch had been his only concession.

It could have been another reason. Maybe he had a rare blood type. Maybe he didn't want to risk the eye surgery, with such a high rate of rejection. Maybe he had merely gotten used to his scars because he had already lived with them so long.

But I held a nauseating certainty that it was self-punishment. Sam wore his burns and his ruined eye like a hair-shirt. He still ached for her. For Jude. He still tortured himself, with guilt.

Sam was hurting. And I was calm. It felt so wrong. It had always been the other way.

I hated how good it felt. I felt so proud to be the one comforting him, holding him.

To be the strong one.

He spent so much of his time, his energy, his life, on the Onus. He was a surgeon who had largely given up working on humans. He was a political activist for my kind. He ran a large charity foundation. What little time he had left, he spent on me. Suddenly, I could see why.

If it felt this good to protect one person, was that why Sam was trying to protect an entire race?

This protective feeling was intoxicating. It was possessive by nature. Selfish by design. A strong current of love and worry and pride... and relief. I was relieved at his weakness, and I hated myself for it.

He spent his entire life on others, and now he was hurting. This one man who was crying into my chest, he had touched the lives of thousands of people. And he needed

me.

It was hard not to feel a selfish sort of pride at that.

The touches between the two of us were new and unpracticed. He had only been comforting me physically for a short time. I had to draw inspiration from further back. To the only other person I had willingly touched.

I cupped his head in my hands, covering his ears, bowing his head forward and pressing my lips to the crown of his skull. The gesture felt natural, practiced, even though I could never remember doing it myself. I could remember mama's palms sealing the shells of my ears. Blocking out sharp noises. I remembered her pulling my head under her chin. Her long dark hair cascaded around me, dimming the light.

I didn't have the hair for it. But the gesture had the same effect it always had on me. I could feel his hot breath slowing against my chest, through my sweatshirt. I could feel his hard shoulders go boneless. His voiceless sobbing turned into long painful sighs. I could feel the scars under the thumb of my left hand. I ran the ball of my thumb over the melted rippled tissue. It looked like hard shiny sinews, but it was silky and pliable to the touch. To the sensory patch on the ball of my thumb, his scars tasted different than the rest of his skin. I could taste ointment and silk and sweat, but otherwise he tasted oddly sterile. As if the tissue didn't secrete the same mixture of sweat and pheromones and that taste-smell that was just

him

.

I wanted to taste it with my tongue.

I felt myself shudder a little bit. How could I even think about that? Now of all times? I could feel my tongue recoiling into the very back of my throat at the thought.

"Wh-What's wrong?" Even now, he was worried about me. He pulled away from under my chin to look up at me with his red-rimmed eyes. No hair grew above his right ear, up to his temple. It made his face look lopsided. Tears trickled at the corner of his left eye, and along the webs of ruined tissue on his right cheek.

I wanted to say 'nothing.' My mouth formed the shape of the word. Then I realized that Sam... Sam probably thought I was shuddering at the sight of his scars, at the feel of them. Or he

would

think that. If I didn't tell him what was really bothering me.

My face felt hot and my stomach twisted up as I tried to find the words. The words to admit my grotesque little truth. "I... I almost li... licked... you." I made a face. "Stopped muh... mys-elf." I felt like I wanted to sink into the couch, I was cringing away from him with pure embarrassment. "Sorry."

His mouth spasmed in what might have been the start of a smile. "Really?" My neck made a crackling noise, I looked up at him so quickly. Why did he have to sound goddamn

flattered?

What was wrong with him? Why would he mock me like this? "You wanted to?"

"I s—I said I was... Sorry." I could feel the edge to my voice. I wanted to make it softer but I couldn't help it. I felt like he was laughing at me. He had told me I could shed my tongue lining in front of him if I wanted, multiple times. I still hadn't done it. Just thinking about

performing

the act sent another shudder of mortification of my spine. I would be less embarrassed to squat down and defecate right in front of him.

"It's okay." His voice was still hoarse. "You... Wont upset me. If..."

"It's disgusting!" I whispered harshly. I felt another shudder rip through me, and he gave me a little squeeze. I took a deep breath, and when his arm relaxed, all the tension flowed out of me, too. I shook my head once. He was studying my face, his eyebrows pulled together inquisitively. "Why...

Don't

you see... how wrong it is?

How?

" I felt the volume of my voice go up, and up. Not just louder, but shrill. My voice cracked on the last word. I couldn't control it.

He thought about it for a long time. My cheeks felt hot with blood. His eyes were closed so long that I thought he had fallen asleep. He surprised me when he finally spoke. It was hard to face him. I looked at his face, his eyes, all the time when my was head down, my head turned away. But it was hard to face him directly, to acknowledge the eye contact. Especially after I had practically shouted at him.

I hadn't known I was still capable of raising my voice.

"I'm sorry, Shiloh. I didn't realize how strongly you felt about this. I didn't mean to j-joke about something that distresses you. I never want to do that."

He waited for me to say something. "S'Okay. But

why?"

Sam blinked twice. "I don't see it as g-gross, or wrong, because it's simply a form of communication. Several studies have shown that when two Onus touch tongues, they can both feel shared sensations. Both will feel an ice cube applied to one individual's arm. The tongues are typically the highest centers of olfactory and taste nerves. Onus have been able to diagnose several medical conditions by taste and touch alone..."

As he talked about the field he had pioneered, his voice became smoother and more confident, falling into lecturing tones. It was soothing to hear his voice, and to know that if there was anyone in the world who knew more about Onus than the man in my arms, they were a personal friend of his.

Or dead.

He held me a little closer without thinking. That soft ache in my chest seemed to hurt a little less as he did. "It's been observed that Onus aren't really... forthcoming with this kind of contact. Onus will mark their loved ones and caregivers by tasting them. Tasting is really sort of a poor word for it. Imprinting, would probably be more accurate. That you feel safe here, that you want to imprint on me... Well, I know... how important that is?"

His voice started out confident, but he seemed to diminish after speaking it out loud. His words trailed off, and lifted into a vague question. He seemed exquisitely embarrassed. He was casting his eyes down. It was so easy to read his face. His eyes were blatant, incapable of falsehood, spilling every emotion over his face to be read like the pages of a book.

A burnt book.

I frowned at the mean little thought, come and gone like a hunger pang. "You should know... I feel safe here." I squeezed him for emphasis, compressing a wry laugh out of him. I wondered if I would be able to speak this well around other humans. Or to any stranger. He had given me my voice, so I had to tell him. "I... It's... It still does... not feel right. It's

gross

." It was hard not to raise my voice. Not to shout the last word. My shoulders felt tight again.

He held my head close and I felt his mouth press against my forehead, warm and scratchy with stubble. That was new. So was the shivery feeling in my stomach and groin. It seemed linked to the hunger in my chest. It was making me hard. I had never felt anything like this before. Emphatically, he whispered. "Shy, your tongue isn't gross. Not a thing about y—"

His cell phone startled the both of us.

The device was face-down on the framed-glass coffee table by the couch. Sam propped himself up on one elbow and twisted so he could look. The black rectangle buzzed again, sliding off the glass and onto the metal edge of the table. One corner of the phone leaned precariously off the edge.

I found myself biting the insides of my cheeks as Sam reached for the phone, rescuing it as it tumbled off the edge of the table. My back and shoulder felt cool and naked without the weight of his arm. The ache in my chest seemed sharper, almost painful. A ridiculous pang of anger and jealousy for whoever had interrupted him.

Interrupted

us.

"Hello?, Elise?" He turned his body back to me, but his arm was still absent, holding the phone to his ear. I could only hear her voice, not the words she spoke. I saw Sam's bad eye in the light from the phone. The scarring went translucent, and I saw that part of his iris was frayed, melted, eaten away on one side. His pupil was an irregular oblong.

"Yes, I'm home... yes... a silent backer is better than a dead backer... who told you?" His voice was very low, still a little hoarse from earlier. I could feel the sound rumbling against my chest as he spoke.

I couldn't be sure why I did it. Maybe I was jealous of the attention he gave to the person miles away... Maybe I couldn't control myself any longer. Maybe not a single thought ran through my head. Maybe...

Maybe I just wanted to see what would happen.

Regardless, it felt like the surest, most natural thing in the world to lean forward and press my lips against his. The contact was brief, I only felt two of his heartbeats before I broke away. His eyes were round with shock. Almost... panic.

I was close enough to hear Elise. "This is huge, Sam. A few of us are going to meet up at Smokey's after we pack up the Mobiles, and I want you to come. You shouldn't have to go through this alone. Hello? Hello?"

Sam still didn't move. He seemed frozen. I smiled nervously, my face felt like the skin was stretched too tight. I was going to vomit. He still looked stunned.

Why?

Why wouldn't he just

say

something?

"I... I'm sorry Elise. What was th-that?" It was hard to control my face. My heart was racing, I was second-guessing myself, my stomach was queasy with nerves, and I could barely believe what I had just done, but... his face! I felt the laugh burst out of me,

explode

out of me. Not a giggle, or a single note, but a sound that seemed absolutely too huge and too

free

to come out of my mouth.

"Sam, who's there?"

Sam's mouth slanted, the corner of it twisted up into his sideways smile. The tension in my gut melted into warmth. A relief so dizzying, it was like being high. "I'm not alone here anymore, Elise." He tilted the phone to me. His eyes were still wide, but his smile was still kind.

"H... Hello!" I whispered into the receiver. I could feel his laugh reverberating in my chest. I felt warm and tingly everywhere.

"Oh. Well... You two have... fun. And you're both invited, to Smokey's."

The phone beeped softly as the call ended. Sam's hand went boneless. Not dropping the phone, or throwing the phone, or setting it down. He did not take one fraction of a second, or a muscle-spasm of consideration for the offending object. His hand was simply no longer in a holding shape, but already running up the side of my neck, even as the phone slid, forgotten, into the crack between cushions.

"Wh—"

I wasn't ready for him to talk. I didn't want to think anymore I didn't want to dance around it. I smothered his question with another short kiss. I could feel his heartbeat in my lips. I felt his hand caress my neck, first down to my shoulder, cupping the bony curve. Then, his hand went up. I made a small involuntary noise when his fingertips touched the skin at my hairline. The warm shivers seeped down my spine, pooling in my groin.

"Shy, wh—" Another kiss. This time, I hesitantly put my left hand on his shoulder. I moved my hand up his neck, stroking his short hair and using the leverage to pull myself closer, pull him into my kiss. Hard enough that I couldn't feel his heart beating, but make out the bones underneath.

"Mmf." He grunted. He rolled his eyes, and pushed me away. He did it very gently, using just his thumb on the tip of my chin. His smile cut deeper into his cheeks, but I could see something else. Lust? Yes. Kindness? Always. But also concern. I didn't want his concern.

He tilted my chin slightly upwards, with his first knuckle. His thumb idly brushed my lower lip. "Shy... What brought this on? I'm... Not... Complaining... But..." I didn't want to waste a single moment. He had to talk between a rain of small pecking kisses.

"Then... Don't." I whispered. He was holding himself stiffly, holding is lower body away. Trying to hide his body's reaction, like before with the bag. I thrust my hips a little, pressing my entire body against him, head to toe. Suddenly, he could feel me, and I could feel him. I felt him moan a little against my mouth as I did. Almost a groan of defeat.

I was so startled when he cupped the back of my head and kissed me back. I let out a jagged little gasp as I felt the tip of his tongue, rough and hot and shockingly intimate, caress the rim of my lower lip. My body spasmed slightly, rocking against him. I only realized how hard I was breathing when I heard him panting.

I sucked my lower lip into my mouth, retracing the line his tongue had made with my own. It didn't feel the same, not close. He read my hesitation, and I could feel his thumb at the corner of my jaw, massaging in little circles. "Shiloh... I... Are you okay? Do you want to... talk about this?"

I shook my head vigorously and started to grind my hips into his. I breathed deeply, focusing on trying to relax. It had been so good so far. Not the single-minded self-soothing one-track-act of masturbation, not the hurt and shame of what the ordinary man and his friend had me do to them, and to myself. I had to show him. He had to know I was better now. That he had

made

me better.

"I... can do this." I whispered. "I

want

to." I tried to say I had never wanted anything more in my life, but the words trickled away, like trying to hold water in one hand.

"Okay." He whispered. "But please, relax. There's no need to rush anything. I... I don't think I've ever told you how beautiful I think you are." He stroked the side of my face. His palm was smooth and warm. "It never f-felt appropriate." He was flushing. I felt a smile cutting into the corners of my mouth as he spoke. It felt good to smile. Irreverent, but good. "It still doesn't, but I think we may have moved past appropriate at this p-point."

I wiggled against him a little, feeling the way his erection pressed against me. "I like it." I whispered. I kissed him, and his tongue was there again, fumbling at the seam of my mouth, rough texture, but gentle to the touch. My tongue shrank to the back of my mouth and I closed my mouth tightly, turning my head slightly away.

I looked up and I felt so aroused and frustrated. He raised his eyebrows slightly. "Is my tongue disgusting?"

I was quick to shake my head back and forth again and again. My lower lip still burned from the earlier contact. I couldn't quite finger what made them so different, but they were.

"I think... I think that Onus tongues can be very sexy." I gave him an exasperated look and he just grinned. "It's the truth, you don't have to shove me. For instance, do you like it..." He started to move his head slowly. I could feel his warm breath against my jaw, and then my neck and I shivered. "When I do this?"

He kissed the side of my neck, and I moaned when I felt the tip of his tongue tracing patterns. I felt my toes curling and I wrapped my legs around the back of his thighs. I felt my hands become claws on the back of his shirt.

He moved his mouth up the side of my neck, until he was almost at my hairline. He'd remembered how sensitive I was. He reduced me to a whimpering wriggling idiot with how good his rough little tongue felt there.