Triptych (26 page)

When he pulls back, Gwen’s mouth is bruised and red, and her eyes have fluttered shut. Her hands, still covered in water and little clouds of dish soap bubbles, are curled against the side of the stainless steel sink. Her chest is bobbing, her lungs filling and deflating at a rapid pace that makes her breasts bounce in a way that Kalp finds extremely arousing.

Kalp looks up at Basil, whose own eyes are wide, pupils large and very black. His cheeks are red and his mouth hangs open a fraction.

Then Basil blinks several times in a row, coming back to himself. He licks his lips, frowns, and says.

“That is totally, totally unfair, innit?”

Kalp smirks, trying to copy the dirty look, and Basil blinks again.

It seems to be working.

Gwen clears her throat and opens her eyes and touches her bottom lip with the back of her soapy hand.

“Uh,” she says. “Um. Wow.”

Basil makes a little whining sound, and if Kalp did not know any better, he would say that Basil was about five seconds away from throwing a full blown temper tantrum. As it is, he stomps his foot like a child, and says, “Totally, totally unfair!”

***

Whatever reluctance Gwen had about engaging in physical pleasures before, it seems to dissolve in the heat of anticipation.

The day at work is long, longer than Kalp remembers it being. He repeatedly looks up at the clock, wondering how it is possible that time seems to have slowed itself to an almost infinitesimal crawl. He thinks that maybe he should bring up this concern with someone, that perhaps an experiment elsewhere in the building has somehow gone awry and affected perception of the present, until he sees Gwen and Basil each glancing at the clock with the same sort of intense longing.

When the end of the day comes, they rush their ritual goodbyes to the other Specialists, pile into the car, and have just enough presence of mind to swing through the drive-thru of the nearest hamburger restaurant. The paper bag, already spotting over with grease stains, is left to get cold on the kitchen table. They are barely up the stairs, heading for Kalp’s nest — fits three better, nothing to fall off of — before somehow Basil’s hands are on Kalp’s buttons and Kalp’s tongue is back in Gwen’s mouth and Gwen’s fingers are on Basil’s fly.

There is a moment when Basil has to stop to stare at Kalp’s naked body, to investigate and touch Kalp’s genitalia. Gwen strokes and fondles, and Basil shows Kalp how useful tongues really are when it comes to women. There is another moment when Basil fumbles for a prophylactic, scrambles to his feet and runs into the other bedroom for it, before crowing and coming back empty handed because he realises that Gwen is already pregnant and therefore no condom is necessary.

Basil throws himself joyously back onto the pile of pillows and blankets. He buries his face in the crook of Gwen’s neck and begins to suck there, leaving behind a livid red mark when he disengages. Gwen’s eyes have rolled back into her head, glassy, and she is fumbling for Kalp’s hand. She twines their fingers and pushes his palm against the entrance to her body, slick and hot. Kalp lowers his head to peer at the folds of flesh, and carefully, minding his nails, strokes the pad of one finger into Gwen.

She arches from the bed with a stifled little cry, and Basil seizes the opportunity to wiggle under her, to lift her up without disrupting Kalp’s view or ability to touch, and engage their bodies fully. Kalp releases Gwen’s hand and runs his fingers around where they now join, and Gwen and Basil jerk together, both letting out little puffs of strained breath.

Then, with Kalp laying on his stomach so he can watch and touch and flick out his tongue with ease, they begin intercourse in earnest.

***

Several hours later, the cold hamburgers are most likely so congealed as to be beyond salvageable. Or edible. Kalp thinks of them only briefly, forgotten on the table downstairs, when a particular shift in the airflow in the house brings the sickly greasy scent to his nose for a second.

Gwen has a goofy smile on her face — rather, what Basil terms “goofy.” Kalp takes this to mean that she is well sated and happy. They are lying in bed, speaking idly of food, of the work they are putting off, of what Basil’s family might do for the coming holiday. They speak of housework yet to be done, the little plumbing and carpentry projects that Gwen has placed upon Basil’s “Honey Do” list. (They must take at least five minutes explaining the humour of the title of this list — Kalp attempts a laugh of his own once he understands. Gwen reaches over and pats his back, fearing that he is the one choking this time. Kalp decides that his experiments with laughter are exponentially less successful than the ones with smiles, and perhaps it is time to abandon that particular attempt at human non-verbal communication.)

 Kalp knows that they will not rise. Despite their lists of chores and tasks and bodily requirements, they will not spoil this moment.

Basil lies between Gwen and Kalp, his legs spread shamelessly wide and his own smile equally goofy, if not more. Gwen is tucked up against his side, still panting, all of her limbs slotted in around his, twined in a way that Kalp believed that a human’s stiff, inflexible elbows and knees ought to have prevented. 

Kalp himself is as equally entwined, and Basil keeps pushing the small of his own back downwards against the mattress, seeking the firm flexibility of the hand that Kalp has pressed there. Gwen is stroking the soft, downy fur at the end of Kalp’s nose with the very tip of her pink finger, the rounded and carefully maintained nail. Kalp lets forth the tummy-rumbling purr that he’s been holding back all evening, unable to control the comfortable automatic auditory response any longer.

Basil starts, and then laughs, turning his face into Kalp’s throat, seeking out the vibrations of his vocal chords with one prickling soft cheek. Gwen and Basil’s bodies are still flushed red, their foreheads wet with perspiration.

Kalp still finds the slightly oily moisture unpleasant against his own skin, but for the pleasure it signifies, he is willing to endure it for a few hours. At any rate, he will soon have a shower. Perhaps, like in the pornography video that Basil believes he has hidden adequately in the basement workshop, they will the three of them shower together. Kalp thinks that would be wonderful, the slow slide of hands and tongues pulsing in sharp counter rhythm with the whooshing slosh of water through the pipes, the hot dragging touches pulling the staccato beat of the water droplets into a delicious dance across Kalp’s skin.

Kalp’s genitalia are growing engorged again, and Basil chuckles to feel it press against his hip. Gwen runs her free hand down Kalp’s neck, pressing hard all along his flank until she can wrap her fat little fingers around him and relieve the lust. Basil watches with parted pink lips and takes himself in hand, matching Gwen’s speed and twisting wrist with his own. Basil and Kalp miraculously reach their orgasm together.

“Now you?” Basil murmurs, but Gwen shakes her head.

“Now bathroom,” she says instead and works at disentangling herself.

This time Kalp initiates the playful wrestling, pulling and tugging at Gwen until she is sprawled across both of them, laughing uproariously as Kalp and Basil tickle her mercilessly.

“No, no!” she shouts. “The pregnant lady has to pee!”

Basil and Kalp take pity on Gwen and let her scramble away. The goofy smile that Basil sports grows wider and he sighs happily. Kalp turns his own cheek against Basil’s shoulder, shyly rubbing his scent sacs along the tendon of Basil’s neck. The liquid evaporates away quickly in the chill evening air and Basil shivers.

“Daddy, Papa, Father…” Basil says softly. “Boy or a girl, do you think, Kalp?”

Kalp scrunches his shoulders and finds it more difficult than he anticipated trying to shrug while lying down. Basil understands his meaning, however.

“No, I don’t much care either,” Basil admits. “Just healthy and happy’s enough, innit?”

Kalp hears the flush of the toilet, the rush of water from the sink and then, unexpectedly, the sudden patter of the shower. Oh.

Kalp tries not to be disappointed. Maybe Basil will still want to share.

Basil closes his eyes, his lids heavy. Kalp has never felt particularly exhausted at the conclusion of intercourse, but he has been given to understand through the observation of many situational comedies and “chick flicks” that human males do tend towards requiring a quick restorative sleep. Kalp lies back upon his nest and allows Basil his rest, settling one of the cool sheets over his naked body in case he wakes cold.

When he looks back up, Gwen has returned to the room. She is clad in her house coat, a tattered but cosy looking maroon terrycloth that makes her hot-water dappled cheeks appear all the redder. She is standing in the doorway, frowning.

“Gwen?” Kalp asks softly. He raises a hand, invitation. Gwen shakes her head, sucking her lips inward and biting on the bottom one.

She turns away and Kalp follows the sound of her footsteps on the stairs. Gwen goes into the kitchen and puts on the kettle.

Kalp debates with himself. Should he go downstairs to speak with her, or was this deliberate separation an attempt at a few moments of privacy? He believes that Gwen may be upset, but for what reason he is unsure. Perhaps she is confused or conflicted.

Gwen has just experienced her first sexual encounter with one of Kalp’s kind. Perhaps she is shaken or experiencing delayed revulsion. Perhaps she is worried for her relationship with Basil, or the health of the child she carries. Perhaps she is just not sleepy.

Kalp waits until he feels the whistle of the kettle, the clink of a spoon against the side of a cup, before he carefully extracts himself from the nest. He dons his own house robe — left hanging on the back of his door — and pads quietly down the stairs.

He pauses at the bottom, craning his head around the railing to watch Gwen. Her elbow is on the table, her chin in her hand. She is staring into the back patio, watching birds or the black sky or the flutter of a stark white moth beating with futility against the glass, leaving a smear of wing powder against the transparent surface.

Kalp smells an herbal tea, sharp and fresh and slightly sweet. Kalp recognizes the scent as peppermint chamomile, one of the blends Basil had purchased in his quest to win his bet over Kalp’s palate.

Gwen prefers strong black coffee. Kalp is puzzled.

Gwen does not turn to look at Kalp, but she says, out loud, “How do you feel?”

Kalp flicks an ear, unsure how to respond. Even on his world, partners did not always say what they meant, and sometimes answers were the starting points of arguments that he had no idea had begun until they were shouting.

“I am very happy,” he says. It seems a safe enough response to settle upon. “May I partake of the tea?”

Gwen waves acquiescence at the pot, and waits in silence for Kalp to fetch a clean mug off of the sink-side drying rack and sit in his chair beside her. “You don’t like this stuff.”

“Nor you,” Kalp says, picking up the disgusting hamburger sack and tossing it in the general direction of the kitchen counter. It lands in the sink. “However,” he adds, when he turns back around, watching Gwen’s eyebrows settle back down, “I do believe tonight is a night for trying new things?”

Gwen smiles, and Kalp feels slightly more relieved. It is a small and gentle and somewhat sad smile. It does not make her cheeks puff out or her eyes sparkle. Perhaps Kalp is not
too
relieved then, but a little at least. Yes, that.

“Are you happy, Gwen?”

Gwen looks away, down at her teacup. She sips, then grimaces. “I hate this stuff.”

“Why drink it?”

“It’s good for me. For the baby. No caffeine. No more coffee for me until the little brat is weaned.”

“I understand. It is a sacrifice to protect another.”

“Yeah.”

“Gwen. Have you…?” Kalp stops. He is not certain how to ask. Or if he wants to. He begins again. “Gwen, have you performed intercourse with me only because it made Basil happy?”

“What?” It is an automatic objection, with no real thought behind it. Kalp waits for her to process what he’s asked. The silence lasts as long as it takes for Gwen to blink three times and swallow once. “I…” she says, and then stops.

Kalp tries again. “Are you happy?”

Gwen peers down into the bottom of her cup, looking, Kalp thinks, for answers to this question imprinted into the cheap porcelain. He knows there are none there, and waits again. This is an important question. The answer must not be rushed or forced or influenced.

“Why us?” Gwen says instead, trading question for question. Kalp wonders if Gwen knows that he finds this answer as difficult to verbalize as she must herself with her own.

“Are you so undeserving?” Kalp asks. He hopes that it is both answer enough to her question, and a question that may aid in forming her answer.

Gwen’s hand rubs her stomach again. “No,” she says. “Maybe?”

Kalp wonders, for just a moment, if he is pathetic; if he is so desperate for affection and approval that he is willing to steal it away from someone else, someone gentle and wonderful and sweet, someone who has opened her home and her heart to him and has demanded nothing in return. Gwen and Basil had given Kalp everything they possibly can — hospitality, friendship, compassion without demands for explanation, and in return Kalp had asked for the one thing they possessed that they had not offered up, the one thing that he perhaps had no right to, the one thing that was their own.

“I care for you deeply,” Kalp said slowly, “but if this makes you unhappy…”

“It’s not like we can go back,” Gwen interrupts. “Not to things the way they were.”

“But, you had to have known…” Kalp says, then stops, staring into his own cooling tea. No, no answers there, just as he suspected. “Is this such a hardship?” He feels his ears pressing against the back of his neck and cannot seem to make them rise again.

Ah. Yes. He is scared.

Scared she will say yes. That she has changed her mind.

“It’s not a…a fucking hardship,” Gwen says. There is fire in her words, but not in her voice. That is small and tired. “It’s just…hard. That’s all. It’s hard. And there’s no one to…to help. Nobody else who understands what we…
this
is.”