Jolak had never understood the sapien preoccupation with kissing. In fact there was a great many things about the sapiens that Jolak didn’t understand. Their music, their inflated sense of morality, their irrational, nearly species-wide fear of the dead. And yet it was the idea of kissing that most confused him. Kronan didn’t kiss. Not in the same way sapiens did. The kronan equivalent of a kiss was a simple press of the foreheads and the clasping of hands. Jolak had been disgusted the first time he’d seen two sapiens press their mouths together, disdaining the sickening display, wondering how they could stand to be so vulnerable and unsanitary around someone else.
It would be so easy to cut another with one’s teeth. So easy to coat the tongue with some toxic substance, to lure someone in with the promise of a kiss only to tear their throat out. A million ways to harm another with a simple press of mouths, and yet sapiens did it often and with gusto. Jolak had sneered at these soft, wretched things, thinking to himself that they should have been conquered and enslaved years ago.
And yet, against all odds, here he was. Hidden away in a dimly lit office with a sapien in his arms, tasting the strange pink lips and wanting more. If someone had told him a year ago that he would harbor romantic feelings for Lieutenant Stone, an alien who recklessly pursued peace and cooperation with a stubbornness to rival a kronan, he’d have shot them on principle.
But Michael’s lips were soft, almost unbearably so, like the blushing petals of the homeworld. His hands were small upon Jolak’s biceps, his smaller, warmer frame pressed to his, and Jolak could have covered his body completely if he wanted to. Sapiens were generally small compared to the kronan, and Michael was a little shorter than average even among other sapiens. For this kiss to even be possible, Michael had knelt on his desk to reach his lips, a fact which Jolak had found greatly amusing, much to Michael’s annoyance. He lifted a large hand to run it over the jet black fur atop Michael’s head, grinning a little at the pleased sound it earned him. How Michael managed to keep it soft in such dire conditions was a mystery to him. Unless of course, his fur only seemed soft to Jolak. So many mysteries in such a tiny package, and Jolak found himself wanting to solve them all.
In another life, he would have taken Michael as his concubine, and spent his whole life wondering why just having his body wasn’t enough. Now, he held Michael like he was something precious. Something to be protected. Something that Kricklok Grudd would never lay his filthy hands on ever again.
“Ugh, this is hurting my knees.” Michael muttered after a while, and Jolak just barely managed to restrain himself from making a sexual joke. Instead, he grinned and seized Michael around the waist, lifting him with ease. Michael gave a little squawk, flailing only a little.
“Hey!” he protested, “I’m a grown-ass man, don’t manhandle me!”
“Grown? Odd. You’re so tiny. I wondered if you weren’t a toddler.” Jolak drawled, earning a glare from Michael.
“Ha ha. Do I even weigh anything to you?” he huffed, and Jolak snorted.
“You weight as much to me as a bundle of talos fruits.” he said.
“Absolutely nothing.” Jolak grinned, and Michael slapped his arm ineffectively, “Light as a cloud.”
“I could kill you with one hand.” he complained, “And you can’t just hold me like this all night, even you have to get tired sometimes, and I’m fully prepared to-“ Jolak silenced him with another kiss, grinning victoriously against him.
He really was beginning to prefer the sapien method of kissing.